Shatterpoint: Crucible
by Arcadia Sterling
Summary: The world that doesn't have superheroes anymore and Clark Kent just wanted to be a news reporter who tries to make the world a better place. But history casts a long shadow and the future is already in motion. An origin story. AU like whoa
1. The City of Straight Lines

**A/N:** Thanks to the face-palming pain that the Nu52 provided, I have decided to smash existing canon and re-assemble it into something else that maybe resembles a classic take. So yes, this is an origin story for Superman cobbled together out of headcanons, cherry-picked bits of canon from across media appearances, and stuff I made up off the top of my head, not adhering to any single one canon but existing in one entirely its own.

Basically... LOL fuck known canon.

If you're a diehard fan of Nu52!Superman and especially if you stan hard for the Clark/Diana pairing, this may not be for you.

I ship Clark/Lois like FedEx. If that is not your jam, don't hate-read and then complain about it.

Also found on my tumblr page.

Without further delay, I humbly present chapter one of Shatterpoint: Crucible.

* * *

The City of Straight Lines

Metropolis was a city of clean straight lines, shining skyscrapers of steel and glass, and of innovation and forward-thinking. Robust, lively and always pushing into the next tomorrow like there was no yesterday, the Midwestern city was unparalleled in many ways. It was a city that had few equals.

And there were highly-motivated individuals who were extremely driven to keep it that way.

At the heart of the Metropolis was the _Daily Planet_ ; the primary news outlet for the entire city. It encompassed radio, television, newspaper, and internet spread over a sixty floor building made distinct by the slowly rotating sphere at the top of the tower. The _Daily Planet_ was known for its unfailing honesty in all forms of news and its hard-hitting reporters who always seemed to know the right questions to ask.

One of those reporters, Lois Lane, was the rising star at the _Daily Planet_. Fresh out of the starting gate, she had swept up a coveted Pulitzer for her stunning editorial, " _Metropolis, the City of Tomorrow_ ". It had showcased exactly what had made Metropolis the unparalleled city that it was. Beautifully crafted sentences had described the city's history, its good side and its bad side, and everything in between. It seemed that every word had been carefully selected. It flowed, flawless and perfect in all the right ways. No one except Lois and the _Daily Planet_ 's editor-in-chief knew that the editorial had gone through four complete re-writes and numerous edits before the finished product had made it to the printers.

At the end of the day, there was no denying that Lois had earned that Pulitzer. It was considered quite a feat, for a young reporter who had been minted less than a year earlier.

But her critics and naysayers claimed that the _Daily Planet_ 's rising star was going to be falling back to earth by the end of next spring. No one could maintain the pace that Lois Lane had initially started with. She had peaked too soon; reached her limit. There was nowhere higher for her to go.

The primary detractor was the _Metropolis Star_ , which was known for printing just about anything as long as the spelling was adequate and the story coherent. It was also known as the "Atrocity Star", the "Shot-Down Star", and the "Catastrophic Failure" in the privacy of the _Planet_ 's newsroom. They were sure that the _Star_ had similar derogatory names for them as well.

The _Star_ and the _Planet_ had been rivals practically from day one. The _Planet_ was the longest operating newspaper in the city. It had celebrated its one hundred and eightieth birthday this past year. The _Star_ had only come around in the mid-seventies and had aspired to muscle out the paper and take over as the premiere news outlet; an endeavor in which they failed.

The rivalry had pushed into high gear in recent years when David Warfield, the current publisher for the _Star_ had tried to buy the _Planet_ out from underneath its then owner. When Morgan Edge had out-bid him, Warfield had turned his displeasure on Perry White for reasons most people were sure was rooted in racism, for Perry White was as black as could be.

The _Star_ 's article on Lois didn't help matters between the two news outlets. Lacy Warfield had written a slanderiffic article on Lois that had stopped just short of libel and it had only gotten published because Daddy was the boss. Any respectable publisher wouldn't have allowed such a biased piece of work to make it into the paper, but again, the _Star_ would print just about anything. The insults and implications were thinly veiled, the narrative dripping with venom, and Lois's name had been deliberately misspelled approximately eight times throughout the article. But it had been the spark that had gotten the critics talking.

Miss Warfield's newest slanderiffic article postulated that Lois had not actually written the Pulitzer-winning editorial but instead had only taken the credit for it, and attempted to present substantiated evidence of that very fact.

"It's a bunch of bullshit!" Lois snarled, tearing the page down the middle. "I still have everything on my hard-drive! I can prove up, down and sideways that I wrote that editorial! I poured my blood, tears and soul into that!"

She wadded up the rest of the _Metropolis Star_ and tried to shred it with her bare hands, but it only twisted and crumpled under the assault. Giving up on trying to tear it in half, she slammed it into the waste-bin and stomped it down.

Across from her, the senior political correspondent, Winslow Osborne, raised an eyebrow.

"What kind of blood did you pour into it, your menstrual blood?" he commented. "You're full of a lot of rage right now, Miss Lane. You need to cool off or you'll get stress-wrinkles."

Annoyed anger snapped in Lois's chest.

"Don't tell me how I should be feeling, Osborne." she ordered, the snarl returning ten-fold to her tone. "And I don't give a _fuck_ about stress-wrinkles!"

"You're going to grow into an old maid." Winslow said, calmly turning the pages of the paper he was reading. He was reclined at his desk, three days ahead on his work-load. "You really shouldn't be wasting your time in a job like this. Go find a nice young man and settle down."

Winslow was an older man in his late fifties who couldn't shake the mindset that women didn't belong in the work place. He was casually sexist and didn't even realize it. It was the way his personality had formed and nothing had happened to change it. He believed, without any shameless sneering or vitriol, that a young woman of Lois's age really oughta have been married by now with one child and another one on the way. Take up the role of passive housewife and let her husband bring home the bacon.

But Lois Lane had known for years that being a passive housewife wasn't going to happen. She was bullheaded and passionate and too focused on her career to bother with things like dating eligible men.

"Keep your sexist opinions to yourself, Osborne. I do what I want and right now, I want to be pissed." the twenty-four year old woman declared, fists clenched. She also wanted to storm the _Daily Star_ 's office and tear Lacy Warfield's hair out, bounce her head off the wall, and drown her in the water cooler, but following through would get her arrested. All Lois could do was sit there and stew in ineffectual rage at the bitch's article.

Later, when the anger had boiled down to a simmer, she would probably write up some scathing, ripping commentary and post it on the internet. She was perfectly entitled to defend herself.

"The _Star_ has a nice point." Winslow said, apparently not put off by the way his younger colleague was steaming like a kettle. "A Pulitzer prize? That's a holy grail in this business. There are reporters who work for years towards one, but they never get the pay-off."

Lois canted an eyebrow. "Like you?"

"But the downside is that winning a Pulitzer means that you're at the end of your career. You've peaked. You've done your very best and you'll never do that well again. You've reached the top and there's nowhere to go but down." Winslow went on in a horribly self-assured way.

"You're trying to make yourself feel better." Lois commented. She wasn't blind. She had seen the way the political correspondent had reacted when Perry had announced the news. Winslow had bleached to a deathly shade of pale before turning an equally deathly shade of crimson. It was no secret around the newsroom that he had been angling for a Pulitzer for a decade and a half now.

And when Lois Lane, then twenty-three years old and a junior reporter with a mere associate's degree in journalism who had no business winning such prestigious awards, had bagged one despite her relative inexperience, Winslow had been damn near apoplectic.

The editorial had meant to test her mettle, to see if she really had the chops to tackle the work of being an investigative reporter on the city desk. A trial by fire. Getting tossed off the deep end from the get-go to see if she would sink or swim.

It had not been intended to galvanize her career.

Lois had done what much of the _Daily Planet_ thought was impossible for a young reporter.

"I'm stating the utmost truth, Miss Lane." Winslow said. "You've done all you can and now it's time for you to back off and give the spotlight back to the hardworking men."

How he could say that with a straight face Lois had no idea.

"Delusion doesn't suit you, Osborne." Lois drew herself up fully in her chair. "If your dream is to see me fall from grace, then you'd better get yourself a new dream. Believe me, I'm not going anywhere. That Pulitzer was just the start. There'll be a second one coming in just a few years, you'll see. I'll be a top-paid and highly-respected investigative journalist long before you're shitting on yourself in the nursing home."

Winslow straightened the pages. "You're cute, Miss Lane." he said. "Gonna make a lucky man _real_ happy one day."

Lois couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic. Rolling her eyes (because everything he said was _ridiculous_ ), she spun her chair around to face her computer and tried to ignore the pinprick of doubt that niggled at her.

Winslow had a way of making you believe what he was saying. Most of the women around here saw right through him, but there were the naive few who weren't so sure of themselves and the career they wanted to pursue. In the roughly two years or so Lois had been at the _Planet_ , while she had worked her way up from copy girl to reporter, the sexist prick had talked two of her female colleagues into quitting on the grounds that marriage and children were more fulfilling paths.

It was worth noting that both of them had come back about a week later after realizing that they needed jobs to survive and Perry had given them back their positions, knowing full well that Winslow had that way about him.

" _If only he used his superpower for good..._ " the editor-in-chief had lamented.

Lois concurred. What use was it having the ability to charm and manipulate people like they were play-doh if the only thing you used it for was to talk people into quitting their jobs because you were a sexist, half-misogynistic ass-hat?

Why not use it to get people to tell the truth for a change?

Imagine the stories!

"Lane!"

As if thinking about the editor-in-chief had summoned him, Perry had opened his door to bellow across the newsroom. He usually had to shout to make himself heard.

"Lane! Get in here!" he ordered.

"Now you're in trouble." Winslow whispered.

"I'm going to make you eat that paper." Lois threatened as she stood up.

The newsroom was crowded, noisy and bustling. Phones rang and the televisions were on constantly, streaming in several news outlets from around the nation. Some people listened to music as they worked and others darted back and forth between desks and filing cabinets, and the mail jockeys clogged up the aisles a lot more often than they should have. Crossing the newsroom through the middle was always an exercise in patience; no one ever got out of the way quite when they should have. As always, there was the ever-present click-clack of keyboards and the buzz of the printers.

Lois was an expert at navigating the chaos, if only because the location of her desk had forced her to get good really fast. She slipped her way out to the side and walked over to the open door of the editor-in-chief's office.

"You bellowed, Chief?" Lois asked mildly, poking her head through the open doorway.

"Don't call me 'Chief'." Perry replied automatically. "Come in and sit down, Lois."

Lois closed the door behind her, shutting out the noise. The sudden drop was both stifling and calming in equal measures.

Perry White had run the newspaper portion of the _Daily Planet_ for the better part of thirty years. He was probably in his late fifties. It was hard to determine his age at a glance and it was even harder to determine who knew his age. He veered between angry bastard who projected a field of "Don't breathe at me" ten feet in every direction and to being the most friendly, cuddliest teddy bear in the room.

It depended on how much he liked you.

Lining his office walls were awards for stellar journalism, framed front pages from pivotal moments of history like the start of wars and the deaths of very prominent presidents, and several black and white publicity photos of Elvis Presley, three of which were autographed.

"What's goin' on, Chief?" Lois asked, dropping into one of the chairs in front of the desk. "Is it Luthor? Tell me it's Luthor. Tell me he got involved in a big juicy scandal cover-up sort of thing."

"Not to my knowledge." Perry told her with a sigh. He had a gruff voice worn ragged by years of shouting and the southern accent of an antebellum gentleman. "I wanted to talk to you about your latest article, Lois. It just- _-_ wasn't up to your usual standard."

A pit sunk into Lois's stomach. Not this, not now. It was bad enough the Warfield wench was running slanderiffic articles on her and trying to tear her down with power of the press, but now one of her biggest supporters who had seen her through everything since the beginning was starting to have doubts?

What was the world coming to?

"The editorial you did on Metropolis. It was brilliant. The spirit of some great reporter must have possessed you to write that. You earned that Pulitzer, no doubt about that. It was a beautiful, inspired piece of writing. I had _tears_ , Lois. Actual tears coming out these eyes." Perry pointed to his eyes for emphasis. "I don't find many pieces that can make me cry with joy."

He did find an awful lot of articles that did make him cry in horror and shame. In shock that anyone fancying themselves a reporter could be so terrible at stringing two words together. Screaming gin and ignorance, that's what he saw a lot of.

"But all of your articles since haven't had the same spice, the same punch. They lack the vim and vinegar that I associate with your writing. I'm worried you're losing your touch."

"Maybe if you'd stop comparing all of my articles to my magnum opus, you wouldn't have that problem." Lois pointed out testily. Though such an achievement that it was to win a Pulitzer so early in her career, she simply hadn't had the time to build up a robust portfolio of respectable articles. There was no acceptable baseline to compare to.

Privately, however, she admitted to herself that the words just weren't coming as easily as they used to.

But she was **NOT** going to say that out loud. She was not going to add fuel to a fire she didn't even want burning.

"I'm just worried. I don't want to see one of my ace reporters losing it this early in her career." Perry said. He was fond of Lois's articles. Every time one of them was on the front page, sales went up six percent.

"I'm not losing it." Lois said stubbornly.

"You've lost a spark. You've lost a _something_." Perry said. He wasn't going to bow to this; he was certain the ace reporter was lacking something in the wake of the Pulitzer. "That's why I'm partnering you up with the new guy."

Lois sat up like a shot.

" _What_?!"

Her voice rose in pitch until it cracked and Perry winced when the sound echoed inside the office.

"It's just for a couple of weeks- _-_ " he started to say.

"You're making me babysit a rookie?!" Lois demanded, standing up. She wasn't very tall or very broad in the shoulders, and the heels she wore added only an extra two inches. But right then and there, she seemed to tower over the editor-in-chief.

"It's not babysitting. It's more of a mentoring." Perry corrected, fighting the urge to cower away. "He's got a lot of raw potential, but he needs breaking in. And I want you to let him shadow you. Let him get the lay of the land. You're the best and I want him to learn from the best."

Lois crossed her arms. "I hope you're replacing me with someone handsome." she griped.

Perry _almost_ rolled his eyes. He was too old to indulge in the gesture. "I'm not replacing you, Lois." he said, raising his hand above her eye level to make a 'come here' gesture. "As for handsome... well, suppose that's your opinion."

The door clicked open and the noise of the newsroom briefly overwhelmed the silence. Lois turned around and her stomach gave a little jolt of pleasure and surprise. She had to battle down the urge to wolf-whistle. The new guy was a fine-looking hunk of man. A few inches over six feet tall, he had a strong square jaw, overgrown black hair that was neatly gelled down and navy blue eyes. He was classically handsome like Gregory Peck or a young Marlon Brando. He wore the dark blue suit very well, looking articulate and cultured in a way men these days failed to pull off with any sort of class.

The unfortunate thing was the black, thick-rimmed glasses, the knobbly lump in his appallingly tacky excuse for a tie, and the hunched posture that curved his shoulders inwards.

 _Nonetheless..._

"Hello tall, dark, and handsome. What cloud in heaven did you fall off of?" Lois wondered, appreciatively eyeing the new guy up and down. Oh, if there wasn't _some_ muscle formation under those clothes, she was going to cry.

"Excuse me?" the new guy sputtered, jaw falling open in surprise.

And he blushed so cutely too; a pinkish tinge spreading across his cheeks like spilled wine.

"Oh, I said that out loud." Lois realized. She didn't feel the slightest tinge of shame for it, because look at those white perfect teeth! One big smile and he could blind the nation, she was sure of that already.

Perry put himself between them to do introductions.

"Lois, this is Clark Kent. I want him to shadow you, because it's like I told you. He's got a lot of raw potential. He has a snappy, punchy prose style. He is the _fastest_ typist I have ever seen. And he knows how to treat his editor-in-chief with the proper respect." he said proudly, like he was personally responsible for Clark Kent having these qualities. "In my thirty years in this business, that is the most important quality to have."

"Thank you, Mr. White." Clark said, shifting a leather satchel in front of him and the pink blush filtered back into his cheeks.

"Please, Kent. Call me 'Perry'." the editor instructed in the most kindly, fatherly tone Lois had ever heard him use.

 _Well, new guy seemed to have hit all the right notes with Perry._ She thought, this time looking him up and down more critically. Impressing Perry White on the first try was a difficult thing to accomplish. As Lois understood it, it usually took up to four trial articles before Perry could be colored impressed.

"Lois, I want you to mentor him." Perry repeated, turning back to Lois even as he put an arm around the new guy's shoulders (he had to reach for it a little). "He was a good reporter when I first met him, but now- _-_ "

"Wait, you two have met?" Lois interrupted.

"'Course we have. It was a while back, though. I liked what I saw, so I offered him a job here at the _Planet_. Told him to take me up on it whenever he felt inclined." Perry explained, nodding.

Lois made a noncommittal noise. No wonder the hot new guy was getting hired on the spot. Perry had already gotten a good look at what he could do and had decided that offering him a job was the best thing to do.

"Now Kent, this is Lois Lane. She one of the best investigative reporters I've seen pass through these walls." Perry went on with an equal amount of pride. "If I had to pick one person who cares about every story that crosses her desk, it would be Lois. She's in it for the thrill of the chase."

"I'm sure there's a lot I can learn from her." Clark replied with a smile that was as nice and pleasant as Lois had hoped it would be. "It's nice to meet you, Ms. Lane."

His voice caught Lois off guard. She had expected a tone of smooth sophistication; a cultured timbre that had spent years percolating in ivy league universities and long lectures on philosophy and current events. Instead, he sounded fresh off the farm; his long lazy syllables a marked difference from the precise clip of the city-slickers. Like he was a hayseed that had blown into Metropolis by mistake.

"Nice to meet you too." Lois said. Just because the boy was a wayward hayseed was no reason to forgo politeness and manners. She took the hand he offered, now half-expecting to get a dead-fish, limp-wristed excuse for a handshake, but he surprised her again with a strong, firm grip.

"Where are you from?" she asked. "Not from around here, that's for sure."

"A town called Smallville." Clark replied.

"Smallville? Who names a place 'Smallville'? Was Bigville already taken?" Lois wondered teasingly.

"Actually, no. It was named after the town founder, Ezra Small. Or- _-_ he named it after himself." Clark corrected with such an earnest expression that made her think he hadn't realized she'd just been teasing.

"Well, where **is** Smallville?"

"Have you ever been to Kansas?"

" _God no_." Lois recoiled in horror. There was _nothing_ in Kansas. Kansas was flyover country. Nothing worth stopping for in that flat-ass excuse for a state. It wasn't on her list of places to visit. She had lived in Metropolis for so long already that she couldn't imagine leaving the beat of the city for the middle of nowhere.

Then Clark's face fell with a kind of humiliated disappointment, his brows drawing together and his mouth turning down into an ashamed sort of frown. Lois felt like she had kicked a puppy while it was already down.

"Would you excuse me a minute?" she requested sweetly. Then she turned to Perry and dragged him aside to the far corner of the office to talk privately.

"Perry, I can't babysit the hayseed. I don't have the time. I've got a story over on the west side to look into and a reputation to salvage. He's just going to slow me down." she explained in a hissing whisper.

"Take him with you. Get some lunch, get to know him." Perry urged. It was more of a command than a request. "You might be surprised. He's a good kid. I've worked with him."

"I don't work well with other people!" Lois reminded him. "Remember Brewster? And Ellicot? I've been through three photographers in the last few months alone. And Danny, now? If he doesn't clear out in the next few weeks, I will buy him a fruit basket!"

"Maybe if you stopped scaring them off..."

"Why do you keep assigning me to work with _people_?"

"I'm sorry, Lois, I didn't know you wanted to work with a robot." Perry said in a distinct sassing tone. "I assign you to work with people because you do all these dangerous things to get the story- _-_ Don't get me wrong; I like your drive, Lois. I do. You've blown open cases for the police." he added, to assure her that he wasn't reprimanding her. "But I'm worried you're going to step into some deep poo one day and it'll suck you under."

"So you're assigning me a bodyguard?" Lois asked, a little insulted that Perry didn't think she could take care of herself. Military brat with over ten years of self-defense lessons under her knuckles; she could sure as shit handle herself.

"He's a reporter too." Perry pointed out. "Kent's a big guy. Maybe not the most intimidating, but people don't often mess with the big guys. Lois," The editor-in-chief took her by the shoulders. "I'm not stupid. I know exactly where you're going this afternoon and I'd rather you not go in alone."

"But he won't be able to keep up." she protested.

"Kent is more than a match for you. Trust me. He'll keep up."

Lois was not convinced. So far, no one had been able to keep up with her. Brewster had called her too intimidating and her methods too stressful. Ellicot had said she was just a little too enthusiastic - _-_ which was the polite way of saying Ellicot thought she was fucking insane. And Danny had a habit of ducking under his desk if he saw her coming. The fact that he had hung on for a month already was impressive, but he probably wouldn't stick it out to the end of this month. No one was willing to follow her into the breach.

She glanced over her shoulder at Clark Kent. He was staring with deliberate interest at some of the awards that Perry had won for journalism, clearly pretending that he couldn't hear them hissing at each other on the other side of the office. She couldn't see what made Kent different from Ellicot or Brewster or even squirrely Danny. If anything, he was comparatively worse, being brand-new in the field. He had no experience, no rapport with the readers. He was a complete and utter unknown in the field of journalism. Lois had _nothing_ to work off of.

"Lois- _-_ " Perry prompted.

"Okay, okay!" Lois gave in, waving her hands to cut him off. "But it's just for a few days. If he falls behind, I'm cutting him loose and then he can sink or swim without me."

The editor-in-chief raised his hands in compliancy. If a few days was all he was going to get out of her, then he would take it. A few days would be time enough for her to see the reporter that Kent was.

He shooed them out of the office.

"Nothing against you, Smallville, but even as a kid, I never liked babysitting." Lois grumbled as they walked back into the newsroom. "You wanna keep up with me, you gotta be quick. I don't slow down and I don't hold hands."

"You'll find that I'm faster than I look." Clark informed her. He was doing a pretty good job keep up with her in the busy crush of the desks.

"Hope that's with your head and not your feet." Lois said. It came out like a sneering retort and she cringed internally. She didn't want to see that kicked-puppy look again. "And let's get something straight. I did not work my ass off for a Pulitzer just to babysit some rube from nowheresville. And one other thing. You're not working with me, you're working for me. I call the shots, I ask the questions. You are low man, I am top banana. Got it?"

"Absolutely." Clark nodded, looking every inch compliant. "You like to be on top."

"That- _-_ " Lois started to reply, but then it sunk in. The _innuendo_... Had he said that deliberately? Did the hayseed have a little bit of sass underneath that weirdly polished exterior that must also be hiding a corn farmer?

 _There might be some promise for him._ She mused.

"That's right." she said confidently. Then she turned and shouted across the newsroom: "Danny! Where are those photos I asked for yesterday?! Get them on my desk before I go home!"

Satisfied when she saw the photographer lurch into action, she made the last push to her desk and retrieved her purse. It always held a reporter's essentials; her brand-new smartphone the WayneTech Pearl G2 (those things were marvelous), a notebook, at least a dozen pens at any given time, and her own camera because you never knew when a photo op was going to strike.

For Clark, the newsroom was almost claustrophobically active. He had been to the big cities before- he had been halfway around the world, in fact - so he was more used to the large crowds than one might expect a Kansas farm boy to be. But there was something very tight and confining about the newsroom that had him stumbling around everyone's feet. He couldn't figure out how Lois had managed to get through it so smoothly and easily.

A wheeled cart jutted out in front of him and Clark, looking over his shoulder, didn't see it until he was falling over it. He had to let himself fall and hope that the cart wasn't smashed in by the time he got back up. On the way down, he knocked over an in-tray piled high with papers, someone with a coffee mug and the mail-jockey's cart. Papers went up in a cloud around him as he hit the floor.

"Hey!"

"Watch it, ya klutz!"

Lois turned her head in time to see Clark picking himself up off the floor. He looked up at her and tilted his head in a sheepish kind of way, accompanied by a tiny, slightly shamed smile.

"Head on a swivel around here, Smallville." she advised, putting out a hand to help him up. "It changes in a heartbeat and you need to be ready for it."

"Sorry." Clark said, both to her and the surrounding crowd. "Not used to being around so many people."

"Time to get used to it. This isn't your little high school newspaper crammed in a janitor's closet. You're in the big leagues now." Lois told him.

"I'll try to be more careful." Clark promised. The coffee mug, fortunately, had only been a little full and all of it had missed anything important. A few swipes with a towel would clean things up.

Getting back out was much easier, Lois noticed. Apparently not wanting to risk a larger mess, the other employees found that they actually had a spare second to step slightly aside and allow them a little more room in which to maneuver. It made her smile. If Smallville could make a crowd part like this, then it just might be worth keeping him around.

"I read your editorial, ' _Metropolis, the City of Tomorrow_ '." Clark said, trying to make conversation.

"What did you think of it?" Lois asked, hoping the kid had good taste. He wasn't half bad already and she was starting to see a bit more than an uncultured hayseed about him.

"It was a stand-out. I would have been more surprised if it hadn't gotten recognition." Clark admitted. He wasn't sure if he should tell her just how much it had inspired him towards being an investigative reporter. He had gone to college with that career in mind, knowing that he would have a job waiting in the wings if he chose to take it, but the editorial had solidified his decision.

"It was a bit harsh on Lex Luthor, though."

Lois canted an eyebrow. "Harsh? That wasn't harsh. If anything, that was gentle. That was the truth." she said. "You haven't been here long enough to see what Luthor's capable of."

Clark blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Let me tell you something about Lex Luthor, Smallville. He's a mad scientist of Frankenstein calibre wrapped up in smooth sophistication of a cold, heartless machine of a businessman asexually reproduced from a long line of evil bald men trying to rule the world through technological advancements and hair replacement formulas. He's rich, he's powerful, and he owns half of Metropolis. His name is considered a natural disaster for the effect it has on people. And he's rotten to the core. He papers himself in money, but you can't hide the stench of moral decay."

Lois reached the block of elevators first and pressed the call button.

"The only problem is, no one believes that. He's got good lawyers who can argue away the origin of a coffee stain while he donates some money to orphans." she grumbled.

Clark shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't see it." he admitted. "Smallville was leveled by a tornado around my first birthday. If it hadn't been LuthorCorp- _-_ and Wayne Enterprises too, the town probably wouldn't have recovered inside of a year."

Lois peered thoughtfully at him. "How old are you, twenty-two or so?"

"Twenty-three. Twenty-four next February." Clark answered.

"Okay, see, Lex Luthor didn't take over the company until four years ago. The man in charge back then was Lionel Luthor." Lois explained. "Now while the apple didn't fall far from the tree, Lionel Luthor actually had some scruples. Lex Luthor, on the other hand, is the very definition of dirty businessman with no sense of morals or integrity."

"But he has a good reputation." Clark pointed out, wondering if Luthor was really as bad as she was implying. Metropolis and Smallville were nine hundred miles apart, give or take a dozen. Whatever Luthor did up here didn't have consequences that reached far enough to effect the small farming community and its LexCorp fertilizer plant. The two were practically worlds apart.

"Only on the surface! That's his camouflage!" Lois said. "I plan to have Luthor exposed for the fraud he is and singing the Stryker Island blues by this time next year!"

Clark nodded. "I suppose that makes you his worst critic." he commented. He could almost smell the determination bleeding off her.

"Muckraker. I'm a muckraker." Lois corrected proudly, pushing the call button again. "But I'm not just any muckraker. I am _the_ muckraker. I'm the muckiest rake that rakes up all the muck that's fit to rake. Got it, Smallville?"

The elevator arrived with a ding.

Clark sighed and nodded. "Right. Top banana."

Lois snapped her fingers. "And don't you forget it."

And she sashayed into the elevator.

* * *

-0-


	2. Your Friendly Neighborhood Reporter

Wow. Superman comic section has an even lower traffic volume than I thought.

Ah well, I'm also on tumblr if you prefer that platform. Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, liked, and followed. I hope you are all having a good day.

Read on.

* * *

Chapter Two: Your Friendly Neighborhood Reporter

"Clark Kent." Lois punted the syllables across her tongue.

She kind of liked his name. It was short and punchy with hard, crisp sounds and the alliteration made it easy to remember. It was a friendly kind of name, one that would look good in a byline. A name that could easily become a household brand, if the right tone was invoked, if his articles spoke to the right audience.

"Clark Kent." She rolled the syllables this time, drawing them out. "The farm boy from Smallville, that was named after the town founder."

Lois had known the guy for all of fifteen minutes, yet just saying his name gave her an oddly trusting feeling. 'Clark Kent' was the name of a man who had nothing to hide. A name like 'Lex Luthor' invoked a sense of unease. It had a slithery kind of feel coming out of your mouth, like the very sound of it was trying to escape your tongue and wiggle back down your throat and you had to spit it out. Whereas 'Clark Kent' burst forth bright and loud like a ray of sunshine.

There was nothing shady about a farm boy from a town called Smallville. Much like his name, 'Smallville' just didn't invoke any bad feelings. It made Lois think of a town mired deep in the 1950s. An old-fashioned, down-home place to live where the men at the barbershop gossiped like old hens and believed in ideals like hard work making a real man out of you. A place where you could find apple pies cooling on the window sill, where the outdoors were still valued, and where a good day of hard work equated to happiness. Simple, straightforward, and as whitebread as they came and then some.

Your friendly neighborhood Clark Kent.

People would trust him.

Hell, Lois felt like she already did.

It was bizarre, because she wasn't the sort to trust so quickly or so easily. The offended told her that it made her unfriendly, but to Lois, it was just being cautious. She preferred to keep a person at arm's length while she felt them out. There was no use in handing out your trust so quickly when the other person turned out to be an asshole in disguise.

Lois raised her eyes and found the slightly hunched shoulders and still very broad back of Clark Kent standing in one of the lunch lines. From the back, it didn't look like a natural posture for him. Maybe it was just first-day jitters that was making him curl his shoulders in like that. Like leaving the farm behind and entering the big city had made him suddenly very aware of how broad-shouldered he was and he had adopted such an unflattering posture to appear less intimidating.

 _If he straightens up, though. Pulls those shoulders back, maybe muss up his hair a little and puts on some muscle..._ Lois fanned herself a little and tried very hard not to picture it. It wouldn't do to imagine her co-worker as a shirtless Adonis on his very first day. Didn't want to make him uncomfortable. She had to deal with him for at least a week.

The _Daily_ _Planet_ employed roughly one thousand people spread over several media outlets and technical support, the copy machines and the on-call repair men, the vast printers that did the job of spitting out the twice-daily papers, the janitors and an assemblage of various personnel who kept the place humming along in one piece. No mere break room would suffice for the mass of people who populated the building at all hours of the day and night and needed a place to unwind away from their desks. Floors thirty-one and thirty-two of the building had been made over to look almost exactly like a mall's food court, but with a huge lounge area and a few sit-down restaurants for visitors and those who had the lunch hour to spare. Some chain fast-food places had moved in, along with a Cinnabon and a pizza place. Anything that was fast, under ten dollars, and kept you full for a little while.

Lois preferred the Panera in the corner slot. Her policy was to eat at least one healthy meal every day and thereby feel less guilty for indulging in things like ice cream for breakfast. Anyways, she loved their thick stews that came in a hollowed-out loaf of sourdough bread and it was perfect for a winter day.

It was the second full week of October and Metropolis had been slammed by the first snow of the season. Six inches overnight and it was still business as usual around here. They were due for another six inches over the course of the day. But Metropolis was no stranger to lake-effect snow and lots of it. They were one of the snowiest cities this side of the Rockies. The plows were already out spreading salt on the roadways and clearing off the edges.

Wispy little flakes trickled down onto the windows that pushed fifteen feet from the ceiling and arched over like skylights. Lois shoveled a spoonful of hot stew into her mouth. It was beef and potato with a few assorted vegetables and spices, with a thick flaky biscuit on the side because even though the bowl was also bread, because apparently you could never have too many carbohydrates in one sitting.

Clark made it to the table in the corner that Lois favored - _-_ one by the window that overlooked the city. He had gone through the pizza line, emerging with a calzone and a side-dish of pasta and breadsticks.

 _Looks like we're both stocking up on the carbs today. It_ _ **is**_ _cold out there._ Lois mused. _Farm boy must be used to eating a lot at meals._

"So, Clark Kent." she started. He definitely had a good name. "Did you do any reporter work in the cornfields of Kansas?"

"I did work for the _Smallville Ledger_ when I was in college." Clark replied.

Lois nodded approvingly. Any prior experience was good experience. At least she wasn't working with a total newbie and hopefully, he was one who could learn. "Now the important question. How exactly did you get past the gatekeeper?"

"Gatekeeper?" Clark repeated, bewildered.

"Perry. How did you convince Perry that you're _Planet_ material?" Lois asked. "I'm dying to know. You impressed him, Smallville, and that is rare."

"I did?" Clark looked confused, like he had never expected to impress anyone _ever_.

Lois nodded eagerly. "Oh, you did. He doesn't show it very often- _-_ Well, never. But he was impressed with you. He's picky about the new-hires. You must have showed him something real special."

She waited to see his reaction. Perry really **was** very picky and actually impressing him was as common as a total solar eclipse over Metropolis. It could happen, but it was so rarely seen and those who were lucky enough had every right to brag.

The braggarts were the worst.

Telling the new hire that they had impressed Perry was her personal litmus test. If they puffed up with a big head and started bragging about how good they were, Lois knew to cut her losses and run. She wasn't going to be partnered with another braggart who'd try and claim all the credit for her hard work.

But Clark seemed to stick close to his modest farm boy roots.

"Oh, well- _-_ I didn't really think I had- _-_ impressed him. I'm not- _-_ I'm not exactly a- _-_ an impressive- _-_ Not impressive at all, Ms. Lane." he stammered, turning so adorably pink that Lois wanted to pinch his cheeks. Then he shoved half a breadstick in his mouth to keep himself from babbling.

She canted an eyebrow. _Not impressive? He really thinks he's not impressive? Wow, I think he's for real._ She realized. She straightened up a little. "Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" she suggested.

Clark made a muffled sound that was probably supposed to be "what?" or something similar, but all the bread got in the way.

"You've met him. Tell me how." Lois ordered. She was incredibly curious. Perry really only talked about three things: his admiration for Elvis Presley, his stress levels (which were self-inflicted), and all things related to running a major newspaper.

The black-haired man stared at her with an expression that could have been easily mistaken for wide-eyed terror that was almost hysterical when combined with those chipmunk cheeks. Then he swallowed all the bread in his mouth with some difficulty - _-_ Lois wasn't sure he had even chewed.

"Do you remember hearing about a meteorite shower in southwest Kansas? Back in 1999, near the beginning of May?" Clark asked. His voice sounded much steadier, now that they were talking about something from familiar territory.

Lois trawled through her memories for a moment. That far back, she hadn't been the most well-behaved of teenagers and mired deeply in the American education system which didn't consider life outside of school to be relevant. She had been dodging her father and trying to check in on her sister discretely and she hadn't had a lot of reason to pay attention to the news.

"I think so, yeah." she said. She could recall a headline or two saying something a meteorite shower in America's heartland. "Is that how you met him?"

Clark nodded. "He came into Smallville a week or so after it happened. I don't think he could find anyone to write the story, so he came to write it himself."

"Sounds like Perry." Lois agreed.

"The next day, the CDC were announced a quarantine until they could be sure there weren't any biological contaminents in the meteor rock." Clark went on. "It must have been about two weeks before they lifted it. Smallville's never had anything that could pass for a bed and breakfast, so my parents let him sleep in the spare bedroom, and we let him use the computers we had in the school's newspaper office to type up his notes."

"So Perry was stuck in Tiny Town Kansas for two weeks with the story of the decade working out of a high school newspaper office." Lois summarized, frowning at the illogical burst of jealousy. She was remembering a little more about the Kansas meteorite shower. It had been prolific for two very important reasons. One: it had _appeared_ on the radar with just four hours of warning before hitting the atmosphere. Two: the meteorites had been up to twelve feet across and larger. It was like half a fucking planet had dropped on southwest Kansas.

"Okay, but that was years ago." Lois added. "You must have shown him something from recently that he got all googly-eyed over. I want to see it. If you've still got it with you."

"I- _-_ uh, I backpacked across Asia, Russia, and Europe for about two years before college. I wrote a lot of letters home." Clark explained, He snapped opened his satchel and extracted a slightly battered envelope that he handed to Lois. "People always told me I had a knack for journalism and everyone really thought I'd be good at it. You can read it, if you want."

Normally, Lois would be quite eager to go digging into someone's personal stuff - _-_ she did it all the time in the name of turning up legitimate dirt for a story. But she hesitated upon seeing the carefully written address to Johnathan and Martha Kent of Smallville, Kansas. She could practically see Clark bent over a desk in a hotel room or on a train or even just huddled up with a hardcover book and a flashlight while sitting under a tree or someone's gutters, scribbling out the letter home. Telling his parents that he was _okay_ and having fun and nothing to worry about.

It was a touch more personal than she was used to.

But he had showed it to Perry too.

"How'd you backpack through Russia without attracting too much attention?" Lois wondered. "It's not the friendliest country. We've had this on-again, off-again frenemy sort of relationship ever since the Cold War. Any given day, I can never tell if Russia likes us or not. Can't imagine they'd take too kindly to having an American backpacking his way across the countryside."

Clark gave a half-shrug and looked away evasively. Lois frowned thoughtfully. There was the look of a man who wasn't sure if he had broken the law or not.

"You might be a very interesting person, Smallville." she told him.

"Ah... Thanks, I guess." Clark shrugged again.

If nothing else, he was proving to be a lot more than just a standard rube hayseed. It was one thing for a person to boast that they had backpacked through Europe, but to throw Russia **and** Asia into the mix as well? He'd been on his feet for two years.

"Tell me all about it some time." Lois all but ordered.

"Oh- _-_ Okay."

She dug the folded papers out of the envelope. Handwritten and four pages, front and back! She skimmed over the introductory stuff - _-_ the 'hey, I'm fine, this is where I am' - _-_ and jumped straight to the heart of the letter. Clark had taken a tour of several old German castles. The descriptions were very well done. They didn't run so long that the reader would get bored or lost. They were short, snappy, invoked good imagery and got all the information across in as few words as possible. It was easy for Lois to picture the graying stones and the green lawns and the aged smell of mildew...

She flinched upright and it took her a second to realize that the mildew smell had been entirely imagined. The words had sucked her in _that much_. She quickly glanced over to her table-mate to see if he had noticed her reaction. Clark was staring out the window to the street below and munching mechanically on his remaining breadstick. He wasn't paying any attention to her.

 _Okay, if I'm imagining a smell, this is good. This is really good._ Lois thought, fighting with her first reaction, which was to be very impressed. _He's got some real gold here. No wonder Perry was impressed-_ -

Her eyes landed on the date marked at the top of the letter. May 2002.

 _He wrote this over four years ago. If this is four years old, he must be damn good by now._

 _He might be better than_ me _._

Lois folded the letter back up and slotted it back into the envelope. A little competition never hurt a body. And who knew? A little competition might have been just the very kick she needed to get back on top of her game.

"What did you think?" Clark asked hopefully.

"I can see why Perry liked it." Lois said, carefully avoiding her own opinion. A little praise could go a long way and she didn't want the new hire to get a big head. As he was now, he would be tolerable to work with.

Fortunately, Clark didn't press her for anything further. He flashed her a grateful smile and returned the enveloped to his satchel.

"Now chow down, Smallville, before I eat that for you." Lois ordered, gesturing to the untouched calzone. "I've got an appointment to make this afternoon and you're coming with me."

"Is that okay?" Clark wondered. "I mean, me coming with you?"

"Of course it is." Lois nodded. "Perry wants me to show you ropes and that's exactly what I'm going to do. The ropes, Lane style." She pointed to the calzone again. "Eat that. You'll need the calories, where we're going."

Now was the real test. It was time to see if he would stay or run.

Brewster and Ellicott and all those photographers she had worked with had been scared off from being her partner for really only one reason. Lois threw herself into dangerous situations like a professional stuntman. She was twenty-four years old and a grown-ass woman, thank you very much. She didn't know what she was getting herself in to, but in her mind, it didn't matter. She trusted her gut, her brains, and her not-inconsiderable skill in hand-to-hand to get her out safely each time with a story worthy of the front page.

But she couldn't trust that her 'partners' would actually have her back when things got tight, not when they spooked at the first sign of raised voices.

Maybe, just once, Perry had seen in Clark Kent more than just a promising reporter.

* * *

The Suicide Slums was one of Metropolis's "bad" neighborhoods. Low income, cheap housing and inconsistent police presence were all the factors needed to make it "ghetto" rather than "shady". There was _one_ police officer determined to patrol the neighborhood like a tomcat prowling its territory, but he was still one man and back-up tended to show up fifteen minutes late even if shots had been fired. People kept their curtains drawn, bought another lock for their door and were certain to have, at minimum, two metal baseball bats handy.

The neighborhood's reputation didn't lend confidence either.

The Suicide Slums had gotten its name exactly the way people imagined. In a one month period, the neighborhood had seen more than two hundred suicides. There had been copper in them thar hills and Metropolis had built itself into a massive industrial center for mining, processing, and selling copper. In 1965, the city had fallen into an economic slump deep enough to make the Great Depression look like a fun little puddle, when the disaster had struck the mine, forcing it to close. Much of the city's economy had collapsed. The major companies of the time had simply packed up and moved away from the city with no explanation, taking all the job opportunities with them. Those who could have afforded to leave the city did. Those who couldn't often despaired so hard it led them to a building ledge thirty floors up. And those who didn't jump cleaned up after those who did.

For a full decade, Metropolis had maintained a reputation that crept up on Gotham City's record. It would have stabbed it in the back and taken over too, had it not been for the efforts of one Lionel Luthor, who had taken over the company from his curiously deceased father and had turned Metropolis back into the City of Tomorrow.

The Suicide Slums still looked like the Skid Row of Yesterday.

If yesterday was trash day.

But nonetheless, the Suicide Slums benefited from being on New Troy, which put it right next door to Downtown and Midtown, and the authorities put in more than just a token effort to show up if enough people called in. There was a reputation to uphold.

The other two neighborhoods weren't so well off in comparison.

The second of them was Metrodale, north of the Siegel River and technically a part of the Bakerline District if you went by what the official paperwork said. Unofficially, the district council representatives did their best to pretend the neighborhood didn't exist. Metrodale had once been an unincorporated town before what was left of the copper mine workers had opted to move there. With so many Metropolis residents living there, the city had annexed the town. After that had happened, Metropolis seemed to have lost interest. Metrodale had declined through urban decay and had suffered a break-down of moral integrity. It was Metropolis's red light district with its strip bars and seedy night clubs and other such dodgy businesses. It was controlled, by and large, by local street gangs and was easily the most poverty-encrusted area of the city.

And yet, it still fell short of the West River Area.

Unlike the Suicide Slums or Metrodale, the West River had not experienced a slow, greasy slide through urban decay. Nothing had ever sent it on that downhill spiral. It had always been unpleasant place to live and work. There was no discernable reason as to why this was. The West River was just a bad place. It had always been a bad place. People might have talked about how the Suicide Slums or Metrodale had once been really nice areas and could return to being nice areas, but the West River didn't have that same sense of hope. It was an event horizon of urban decay. The place where Metropolis's clean, straight lines contorted all different ways and wrought something that seemed only peripherally a part of the city.

 _The fact that it's home to all sorts of poor immigrants doesn't seem to be helping._ Lois thought, briefly wrinkling her nose against the vaguely rotted smell of the neighborhood that she just could never shake.

She turned up her collar against the chill breeze and silently cursed Clark, who didn't look remotely bothered by the cold. Sure he was bundled up in gloves, a coat, a scarf, and a really swanky fifties-style fedora that he wore like a boss, but he strolled along like it was a warm spring day rather than the ass-crack of winter.

"Are you even cold?" she demanded. She was huddled in on herself. Either she needed a new coat or her cold tolerance was completely shitting on itself.

"Hmm, no I'm fine, Ms. Lane." Clark replied. He looked down at her, all the way down to her ankles. "Are _you_ cold?"

"Yes." Lois said through gritted teeth. She probably needed to invest in a longer coat - _-_ one that went down to her knees - _-_ if she insisted on wearing snappy business blazers with skirts and hosiery. "Y'know, I've lived in Metropolis since I was thirteen. You'd think I'd know by now that we get cold winters around here."

"Have you thought about buying slacks?" Clark inquired.

Lois shrugged. "Either that or dressy thermal leggings." she grumbled.

"Do they make those?"

"I think so, but I've never found them. If they don't, they need to start."

Clark hummed absently. He didn't want to tell Lois that he thought she was very impractically dressed for winter. Some women took their fashion very seriously and would throw aside function in favor of form. But Metropolis was sandwiched on a peninsula jutting out into one of the Great Lakes with the Canadian border only about seventy miles away and it only made sense to be a touch more practical in the way one dressed for winter if they didn't want to freeze their privates solid.

The cold didn't bother him nearly as much as he knew it should have. It turned out that he was very resilient against the extremes of weather. Halfway through a Russian winter, he'd come to realize that the coat was more of a formality. He could go for hours without wearing it, as long as he wasn't trying to sleep. The same thing applied to extreme heat.

"So where are we going?" Clark asked, trying to take Lois's mind off the obnoxiously chilly weather. He really didn't like the look of this neighborhood. He had seen the Suicide Slums and he knew of its history, but even the Slums didn't have as many boarded up windows per block as this area did.

"We are going to see a Mr. Homer Colon."

"And who is he?"

"He's a slumlord." Lois replied. "The city wants to gentrify the West River area. They want to gentrify the _entire_ area."

"They seem to be getting off to a pretty good start." Clark commented. The elevated light rail that they had ridden out of Downtown had taken them across the Vernon Bridge and past STAR Labs were urban renewal was clearly well under way. Brand new apartment buildings and office space and a market place had been constructed within the past year.

"But only those sections out by the Catfish and Ecton Pike bridges, in Cheswalk." Lois said. "See, Mr. Colon owns the largest chunk of land and he isn't selling. Not for any sum. The city already offered him a tidy nine hundred thousand for his land and the word is that he turned them down flat. Do you know what that makes me think?"

Clark shook his head. "No."

"It makes me think that Mr. Colon is hiding something." Lois replied thoughtfully. "Nine hundred thousand is a big sum of money. What reason would he have to turn down that much money point-blank?"

"Maybe he doesn't think it's enough?" Clark suggested, shrugging. "Even if the property values are low, the land he owns might cost more than nine hundred thousand. Maybe he feels they're trying to stiff him."

"Look around, Smallville, this is a bad neighborhood." Lois said, making an encompassing gesture to everything around them, from the crumbling brick to the sagging gutters. "Do you think anyone actually lives here because they _want_ to? They're out here because they don't have a choice. The West River wasn't a good area to start with and it's only gotten worse. I think if anyone had the chance to move out, they'd take it and not look back. No one sticks around when they've got the chance to run for greener pastures."

Clark didn't necessarily think that was true, or else Smallville would have ceased to exist in the first twenty-four hours following the Tornado of '84. Or the meteorite shower of '99. Both times, the town had been reduced to a seemingly irrecoverable mess that no one in their right mind would stick around for. Anywhere else would have been sprinting for the greener pasture.

Yes, some people undoubtedly lived in the West River Area because they didn't have a choice in the matter; it was the best place they could afford and their paychecks weren't big enough for advancement. But others were long-time residents who held onto a shard of hope that the area would get better; that it could be recovered and turned into something golden again (or for the first time).

Then again, Lois was right. Nine hundred thousand dollars was more than enough money to pack up and head for better living conditions. The fact that the slumlord was not giving up his land even for that sum was suspicious, at best.

"And what do you think he's trying to hide, Ms. Lane?" Clark wondered.

Lois shrugged. "Could be anything that would put him in jail for the rest of his natural life." she replied. "Anyways, that's what I'm here to find out. Remember, you're just the tag-along, so don't even think about it." she added sternly.

"Think about what?" Clark asked, not following.

Lois poked him. "Don't even think about doing my job." she said.

"But being a reporter **is** my job now." Clark pointed out, frowning. This woman was a little competative, wasn't she. "It's one thing to say I'm supposed to shadow you and have you show me the ropes, but how am I supposed to learn how to swim if you don't let me get my feet wet?"

Lois raised one slim eyebrow and crossed her arms. She didn't let it show on her face, but dammit, he was right. He wasn't going to learn how to be a proper investigative reporter if she didn't let him take the lead once in a while.

"Alright, Smallville." she started graciously. "How would you approach this?"

Clark slid a folded sheaf of newsprint out of his coat pocket. "We're looking for an apartment." he said.

Lois frowned. "I'm not looking for an apartment." she said. "I have an apartment."

"I don't." Clark told her. Then he handed her the sheaf of newsprint with a small smile. It was the ads page, with several circled apartment listings for roughly four hundred a month. And several were right in the West River for even less.

"Wait, are you actually looking for an apartment _here_? Like a real apartment that you plan to live in?" Lois demanded, slightly appalled that anyone might consider one of the run-down tenements around here as viable places to actually occupy (unless you enjoyed tetanus and staph infections). She had looked into West River apartments once and knew right away that anyone with the means to do so needed to run in the opposite direction. _Fast_.

"I didn't think there was any other kind of apartment." Clark replied, his tone faintly teasing.

Lois slapped his chest with the newspaper. "Are you serious?! God Smallville, you could do better than this! Pelham! Mount Royal! Little Bohemia! Even the Slums is a better choice than this part of town!"

"I'd like to keep my options open." Clark replied, flashing a smile that _should not_ have made Lois feel a little gooey inside. For a man with such a pretty smile and great hair that was obviously sheltering a working brain, he sure seemed to have poor judgment on appropriate living spaces and all Lois could hope was that he had not literally been raised in a barn. If it was all for the ruse, then she could go along with that, but Clark was practically saying that he was considering the housing around here to be good enough.

 _The good news is that he'll see just how bad it is and then he won't want it. I'll drag him to other openings myself, if I have to._ Lois decided.

Clark pushed the newspaper back at her and poked the apartment ad listing. "So where are we starting?"

* * *

-0-


	3. Balls of Brass

I just really like writing Lois Lane.

I'm also on tumblr if you prefer that platform. Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, liked, and followed. I hope you are all having a good day.

* * *

Chapter Three: Balls of Brass

To Lois's horror and ongoing appall-ment, there were three apartments available for rent in the building where Homer Colon claimed residency. Which meant there were three apartments, owned by a slumlord, that Clark was declaring his intention to consider as potential living areas.

In another life, the building must have looked like an excellent place to live. It was an old industrial factory once owned by a car manufacturer, renovated and remodeled until it featured middle-class apartments available to those who could afford it. In this section of town, that wasn't many people. It exactly didn't take a genius to know when entropy had begun to reclaim the building.

"They did try to gentrify the area once before this. Back when the Slums was self-destructing. " Lois explained, while they both stood on the building's front walk. "The Slums used to be a great area, but with so many people just killing themselves, the city figured it was a lost cause. So they turned their attention to the West River. They made all these nice apartments and offices and tried to attract the comparatively wealthier class to the area and inject some life back into the neighborhood."

"I can see that it didn't work." Clark commented.

Lois made a sound akin to a harsh, disparaging laugh but it sounded halfway closer to a small scream.

"Yeah, it didn't work. West River fell back to the slumlords within months." she said. "A sad neglected little Hooverville right here in the City of Tomorrow."

Her lips were pursed, her eyes were narrowed, and her expression was calculating, but Clark was in a better position to hear the faint note of dismay in her voice. Like she had expected better from the City of Tomorrow. He couldn't exactly disagree with her. He had been halfway around the world. He had seen some of the most prominent cities in Europe and Asia and part of the United States. In the glamorized hustle and bustle that distracted your every sense and the flow of traffic that carried your feet to the best destinations populated by tourist and sight-seers that impressed and awed the masses, sometimes it was hard to remember that these rundown, neglected places still existed.

Even in cities like Metropolis.

The thing was, big cities like Metropolis went out of their way to make sure that word of their dirty little neighborhoods didn't get around. They weren't advertised in the visitors' pamphlets. There were no brightly colored flyers crowing about visiting this grotty little restaurant that hadn't changed its interior design since the thirties where roaches did breast-strokes in your drink, or walking down this street lined in strip clubs where bums occupied every other sidewalk square and asked you for your spare change. The slums were not places to be advertised as loudly or as frequently as the shiny, sleek areas of downtown.

It was the classic avoidance maneuver. Cover your peripheral vision and pretend that because you couldn't see it, it wasn't there and had never existed and no one would ever know about it.

And maybe, if you just ignored it long enough, it would actually go away.

When people thought of Metropolis in particular, they didn't imagine that it would have a dirty slum neighborhood like the West River or Metrodale. It was just so sleek and bright and clean. The city of straight lines. The City of Tomorrow. No one wanted to imagine that there was even a single part of the city that existed underneath the poverty line. Not Metropolis- _-_ Oh yes, Gotham, the worst city in the continental United States. But not Metropolis.

 _Never_ Metropolis.

Metropolis did not fully live up to its reputation, but no one wanted to admit that.

Clark looked at the building again. It must have been nice, in those days just after renovations had been completed. When the paint had dried and you could still smell the sawdust in the air. They had taken the fence down and returned most of the parking lot to dirt, seeding it with grass and planting trees. There had been an effort to plant flowers. Deep in winter now, the trees looked forlorn and neglected, their naked branches shivering in the cold and the flower-beds were full of dead weeds. There was an air of sad neglect hanging around the entire building.

"Are you actually serious about looking for an apartment here?" Lois asked, breaking the moment of thoughtful silence.

"I need to start somewhere." Clark admitted. He was currently staying at what the politically correct called a "single room occupancy" hotel and what he knew was actually a flophouse. He had seen a few of those personally.

It was definitely **not** meant for long-term occupancy. It was noisy and kind of smelly from there being too many small children and inadequate bathing facilities. And noisy. As much as Clark wanted to, he couldn't turn off his enhanced hearing and earplugs weren't as effective as he would have liked.

"Yeah, but _here_?" Lois wrinkled her nose.

"Ms. Lane, you brought me here to do a job, not to criticize my apartment-hunting." Clark pointed out. If they could just get on with it...

"I'm not done arguing about this, but I'm done for now." Lois informed him. She made a 'follow me' gesture and they both made their way up the front walk. It was buried in snow from the last two storms. In a building this large, there probably would have been at least one on-site janitor who mopped the floors and cleared the sidewalks of snow and leaves in exchange for rent-free living. But slumlords like Homer Colon cut the corners wherever they could to save the money for themselves.

There was no discernible difference in temperature inside the building than out. It was only a few degrees warmer out of the wind and the presence of a homeless hobo huddled up in the corner shouldn't have surprised Clark as much as it did. Spotting the pile of rags passing for a human being, Lois turned and gave Clark a very meaningful look. She kept a comment to herself this time, but the raised eyebrows said enough. Then she went over and knocked on the door emblazoned with a little brass plate reading: "Landlord".

Clark thought he should tell her just to get it off her chest, or perhaps tell her that things would be alright. Or remind her that it had been her idea to come down this way in the first place - _-_ he was just giving them an excuse. But when the landlord's door opened, he just couldn't, for all words fled his mind at what he beheld in the doorway.

Homer Colon, slumlord, was fat.

Not beer-belly large or just a little pudgy around the middle, but _fat_. Fat like his clothes didn't fit properly and he didn't bother looking for ones that did. Fat in that there was an entire wad of god-knows-what hanging over his struggling belt. Fat in that his neck-rolls appeared to be eating his shoulders. Incredibly fat in that way that made you wonder how in the name of gravity he was still standing upright. He was shorter than Lois by a good three inches (in bare feet), but he had oozed outwards to a circumference of roughly four feet. His age was impossible to guess.

And the _smell_...

Clark couldn't describe the smell that was emitting from Mr. Colon's body. It was something unfortunate - _-_ like cottage cheese that had begun to go bad, unwashed gym clothes sitting in the back of a hot car, something that was _exactly_ like the barn after the cows had spent the night inside, and a festering moldy stench that seemed to accompany meat that was far past bad and into putrefying. It was enough to say that the stench made his stomach turn over and begin tying itself in knots.

In his own way, Homer Colon was a magnificent beast. Truly, it took dedication to reach such rotund proportions that your stomach had oozed out of its restraints, yet still remain able to stand upright.

Clark glanced over at Lois, half-expecting her to be wearing a cool expression of disinterest. But Lois looked half a breath away from screaming, her entire posture a rigid frame of physical revulsion, her body scrunched up and trying to make itself a smaller target. Something about her stance told Clark she was standing completely on her toes and was ready to bolt if the slumlord so much as wheezed in her direction.

"Mr. Colon?" Clark quickly attracted attention to himself, before the slumlord could notice Lois's horrified revulsion.

"What you want?" Mr. Colon inquired, his beady eyes squinting on the younger man. His voice was a ragged grunt, his speech patterns indicative of either a lacking education, English being his second language, or he had discovered that getting the proper syntax out was just too much trouble and had decided it was much less effort to speak in a sort of pidgin English.

Clark held up the newspaper in both hands. "I saw listin's for available apartments here. The ads said to inquire with you, the landlord." he explained, effecting a thicker version of the Kansas country accent he already had, playing up the image of being a trusting small-town boy who had barely seen the wider world.

"You wanna see 'em apartments?" Mr. Colon asked, eyes sweeping over Clark's cotton suit and polyester tie and coming to rest on the scuffed tops of his imitation leather loafers. Clark heard the man's laboring heartbeat picked up a little in what usually signified excitement or fear, but the tip of a large pink tongue flicked quickly over his lips and a little gleam came into his eyes, so excitement.

"Yes. Today, if possible." Clark nodded.

"Lemme get 'em keys." Mr. Colon said. Then he retreated like the ocean tides back into his lair and closed the door. It wasn't until the deadbolt clicked home that Lois made a small squeaky noise and shuddered, finding her voice again.

"Oh my god..." she whimpered.

"Are you alright?" Clark asked.

Lois's dark eyes slid over to meet his, her pupils dilated.

"How much do you think he weighed? Three-fifty? Four hundred? How much grease do you think is in his arteries? Did you hear him wheezing? Tell me you could _smell_ that?! I think his fat rolls are rotting!" she squeaked in a rapid-fire way.

"Ms. Lane, it's alright. Mr. Colon might be _unsightly_ ," Clark couldn't think of a better word. "But he's not going to hurt you."

"Are you kidding me? A man like him has his own gravitational pull! Have you ever been broadsided by a planetary body before?!" Lois demanded.

Clark shrugged. There had been the Watermans before they had moved out of Smallville. The parents had been almost comically oversized and vile in temperament, and their daughter Priscilla had been in Clark's grade. In kindergarten she had outweighed her classmates by anywhere from thirty to fifty pounds. By second grade, she had been a good eighty pounds heavier than anyone else in the grade. Clark knew this because the school nurse had attempted to take the rotund parents aside and gently explain to them the possible health concerns of an eight-year old girl already weighing nearly one hundred and forty pounds. The parents had made a considerable production of storming out screaming loudly about their daughter's perfect health and how it was of no concern to some backwater school nurse. Smallville Elementary was both a small school and an old building that had carried the echoes of the screaming Watermans to the corners of every classroom.

Priscilla had been nice enough, but completely unaware of how big she had been and how much it hurt to get slammed with over hundred pounds of person. Clark had been indestructible since the age of four and not exactly a small fry to begin with.

But Lois wasn't so indestructible and she was much smaller. Mr. Colon could really hurt her just by falling on her.

"I'll be your human shield?" he offered politely.

Lois seemed to relax a little. "You're a rare gentleman, Smallville."

"I was raised to be one." Clark replied, smiling.

The door opened again to reveal Mr. Colon. Lois tried not to make it look like she was diving behind Clark for safety.

"I got 'em keys." the slumlord announced, waddling out of his apartment and jangling the key-ring. His knees creaked audibly and seemed as though they might buckle under him. "Let go look at 'em apartments."

Lois was quite right in the sense that the apartments were among the worst Metropolis had to offer. They were in horrible disrepair. The first two on the ground floor suffered noticeable structural damage in the load-bearing beams. They were splintering like large objects had been repeatedly thrown against them. A light fixture swung freely from the ceiling by several wires. Clark got the feeling that the first two apartments had never been occupied, going by the three-inch deep layer of dust on the floor, littered with mice droppings and roach corpses. Lois tested the sink spigot, getting nothing more than the hollow sound of air being pushed through the pipes. Clark tried to turn on the lights, but the only bulb exploded with a loud pop. The windows were clouded over from years of not being cleaned. All the while, Mr. Colon told them it was a rustic fixer-upper.

The third apartment was on the top floor (it took them twenty minutes to get up there; the slumlord insisted on stopping at every landing to catch his breath) and it was in no better shape than its predecessors. The floor seemed to creak and sway ominously, and Lois reported that she definitely felt it wobbling in a few sections. Over the top of his glasses, Clark peered into the walls to catch glimpses of gnarled electrical wiring, shoddily done, and long sections of water pipes were simply not there. The duct-work was mangled and the windows were ill-fitting. There was a cold draft coming from the broken window in the bathroom and Lois hastily told him not to look in there for any reason.

"What you think?" Mr. Colon asked, once they had finished their perusal of the dreadful place. He sounded hopeful, like they might actually take it, and he seemed completely unaware that he had shown them what life after the apocalypse might look like.

Clark shrugged. "It's not bad. I kind of like it." he said.

Lois made a choking noise.

"How much does it run?" Clark asked.

"Seven hundred." Mr. Colon grunted.

"What?! That's robbery!" Lois snapped angrily, shaking a finger at the slumlord to play the role of the clueless apartment hunter. "No one would pay seven hundred for this dump! If I wanted to sleep with rats, I'd go to a fleabag motel! And that would cost me forty bucks!"

"Even I gots to eat, missy." Mr. Colon said, spreading his hands helplessly like there was really nothing he could do about the state of the place.

"You could eat _less_!" Lois growled.

"Uh- _-_ " Clark moved in front of her before she could upset the man. "Don't insult him." he requested in a whisper.

"Insult him? I'd be doing him a favor!" Lois hissed, her eyebrows drawing together. "Look at this place! Look at him! It rings the cherries, Smallville! Don't pretend for a second that you actually like it!"

There was a coughing, phlegmy, and very wet sound that they realized was Mr. Colon clearing his throat.

"Yous ain't from 'round here." he said, looking pleased like he had hit the jackpot. He gave a slow, oozy smile that had to jockey against the fat for position on his face.

"No, we're from Central City." Clark answered, lying instantly. If this was going in the papers, lying was the best policy.

"Yep! College chums!" Lois agreed, going along with the charade. She punched him on the arm, too hard to be one of those friendly punches. "I moved here first. Then this lug decided to follow me. Can't live without me, this dolt!" Another punch on the arm. "I'm just helping try to find a place. I've got to get him off my couch. My bathroom hasn't been the same since he moved in."

She landed a third hit on Clark's arm, being extra sure to dig her knuckles in as deep as she could. Not very deep, as it turned out. It didn't look like it from the outside, but Clark's arm seemed to be made entirely from muscle.

"You thinkin' you move in?" Mr. Colon asked, looking at Clark.

"I've got a few other places to look at before I make any decisions." Clark started, but the slumlord waddled forward, shaking his head. He clapped his dish-plate sized hands on Clark's elbows.

"No. no. You found home here, sir, yes you have." he said. "I got best view in the city. You love it here, I promise. You come move in. I get you sign lease today! Move in tomorrow!"

Lois's fingers snaked suddenly around his wrist and squeezed in warning, and Clark was almost distracted by the feel of her bare skin on his wrist (pen-callused fingers, smoother than he'd imagined, the angle bringing in a whole slew of sensations- _-_ ).

"I'd like to talk it over with my friend, first." he said.

"What there to talk 'bout?" Mr. Colon asked, possibly making an unhappy face, but it was hard to tell. Muscle movement was lost under the fat. "It simple. I get lease, you get good living. We both win- _-_ "

He was cut off by the sound of a phone ringing from somewhere in the depths of his fat rolls. The slumlord patted around the vicinity of what had once been his waist, then he lifted up a fold of flesh and extracted the ringing phone (Lois couldn't hide the look of terror and disgust this time). He shuffled away from them and answered the call.

"What you want?" he demanded into the phone.

Clark listened in.

Growing up, Clark had always been told that eavesdropping was impolite. But when his senses had started to increase and enhance beyond even peak human parameters, not eavesdropping had become unexpectedly hard. Without trying, he could hear everything in an eighty-foot radius, forcing him to zero in on just a handful of sounds, usually his own heartbeat and footsteps and breathing. Becoming selectively deaf had taken work. It required active concentration on his part; not something he could do when he was trying to sleep.

But if he was going to be an investigative reporter, he might as well do the thing properly and make up excuses later.

" _It's Kyle._ " said the person on the other end of the line; a man who sounded more intelligent and just as impatient. His voice was tinny and buzzy, but loud and clear like Clark was standing next to the man. " _The shipment's in, but there's a problem._ "

"What wrong with it?" Mr. Colon asked.

" _Nothing, but the big boss is coming up for an inspection._ " Kyle explained. " _She's already back in the city. She'll be here in thirty minutes._ "

Mr. Colon made a huffing sigh as though he was being inconvenienced. "Be there inna minute." he said. There was a beep when he ended the call and Clark quickly quelled his hearing back to normal levels. Mr. Colon coughed out that phlegmy wet sound again and turned to the couple.

"Gotta take care of summat. Gotta step out." he told them. "If you still interested, come back later?"

Clark nodded. "Sure."

Lois didn't need any prompting to bundle herself up and leave. She flicked her head in a gesture that was almost imperious, telling Clark to follow her out. She was surprisingly quick-footed on her two-inch heels. They well ahead of Mr. Colon getting down the stairs and were nearly out the door by the time they the top flight of steps creak heavily under the landlord's prodigious weight.

"Are you actually _really_ interested in that dump?" Lois questioned, wrapping her coat more tightly around her as they ventured back out into the cold.

"No, not exactly. I suppose if it was in better shape and the landlord wasn't a part-time criminal." Clark said, shrugging. "I did like the terrace balcony."

"What was so special about it?"

"It faces south, meaning it gets the most sun. I could grow tomatoes, peas, spinach- _-_ "

"Whoa!" Lois threw up a hand impatiently. "My god, Smallville, don't get all farm boy on me. Seriously, you could do way better than - _-_ _this_." She jerked a thumb to the building behind them. "Check all your options before you settle on _this_. Actually, don't settle on this. I will kill you if you settle on this."

Clark frowned. "We just met."

"I don't care." Lois shook her head. "You just showed me a bad choice and I'm not afraid to tell you that it's poorly informed. If a little garden space is what you're after, then Little Bohemia is your best bet. You hear me, Smallville?"

"Yes, but- _-_ "

"Don't 'but' me, farm boy. I do not accept buts as excuses." Lois told him firmly, waggling a finger at him. She fisted a handful of his coat and started to tug him down the sidewalk. Clark staggered; she was deceptively strong. "C'mon, Jupiter is going to make its daily orbit around the great red giant McDonalds, it sounds like. I can't think of any other reason he'd be leaving his dank lair- **-** "

"Actually..." Clark started tentatively, but it didn't matter because the dark-haired woman already had a plan in mind.

"I hope you can run in those shoes, Smallville. We might have to make a dash for it." she said.

"Uh, Ms. Lane? What exactly are you planning to do?" Clark asked. He was starting to suspect that he might not like the answer. He had read some of Lois Lane's articles before and some of the information she'd gotten didn't seem like something the police would have released to the press.

Lois came to a sudden stop and Clark almost bounced off her back. She barely gave him any stopping room before she spun around just as abruptly and somehow managed to get up in his face despite her shorter stature.

"Have you ever done anything illegal before?" she asked.

The dark-haired man blinked. "Is the answer relevant?" he wondered. "And how are you defining 'illegal'? Because I did help toilet-paper a neighbor's house on Halloween, once. Does that count?"

"Rebel without a cause, you are." Lois murmured. _And I'm sure you didn't bend a few Russian laws. Pure as the driven snow on an angel's ass._ She added in her head.

"Why, have you ever done something illegal?"

The question caught Lois off-guard, judging from the way her heart-rate increased a little. But then her eyes narrowed and she stood up on her toes.

"Listen to me, Clark Kent." she started, his name snapping out of her mouth like a rubber band. "I don't know what rumors you've heard of me, but they're probably all true. I have have been around the 'illegal' block a few times, I'll admit, but if you want the story- _-_ the _real_ story, you have to be prepared to do a few things that the law might not agree with."

Clark frowned. " _I'll_ admit I don't know what you're proposing." he said, but there were only so many ways to interpret her statement.

"Something that'll get the cops called on us if anyone spots us." Lois nodded. "You are, of course, free to back out now if you're not comfortable with this, but fair warning. You'll need someone else to teach you the ropes, got it?"

"Understood." Clark agreed. "But Perry told me that you were one of the best and I'd like to learn from the best. So it would benefit me if I stuck with you. No matter what you're planning."

For a second, Lois appeared to be at a loss for words. She had looked ready to deliver a stinging retort, no doubt because that was always what she had to do. Her last partners always told her she was crazy. They always took off, leaving her at something of a loose end, and usually right when she stuck a finger in the face of the law. They had never really been able to handle a little trespassing (and they called themselves reporters, bah!).

They didn't agree. They didn't follow her down to the breach and back. Especially never on the first spin out. Clark Kent stood at the end of a very long line of potential partners and and he was the first to not call her crazy or suicidal. He was the first who had declared his intentions to stick with her.

She was starting to think that she might owe Perry a box of cookies if his hunch turned out to be one of the better decisions he'd made. Clark Kent hailing from Smallville, a place in Kansas so insignificant that she couldn't even imagine where it was on a map, might just turn out to be one of the better reporters in the _Planet_. Perry had seen something from the then-teenaged Mr. Kent and his reporting skills.

Apparently, he had guts that were more solid and balls that were bigger than any of those other losers at the _Planet_ , the ones who were scared of her.

"Y'know, Smallville," she started, grinning. "I might just learn to like you."

"Is that a good thing?" Clark wondered. It sounded like a rare thing.

Lois shrugged. "I don't know. I've never really gotten to the point where I actually realize that I might like a person." she admitted. She glanced at the building and groaned. "C'mon fatty, how long how does it take to get down a flight of stairs?"

"He's got a lot of weight to move. Why don't we take a walk around the block?" Clark suggested. "It's too cold to be standing still."

"Yeah, that sounds good." Lois agreed, pulling her coat a little tighter. It was becoming official; she needed to invest in a new one.

They set off down the sidewalk, looking like nothing more than a couple out for a winter stroll, albeit on the wrong side of town. However, they didn't pass anyone and though Clark spotted a few down-on-their-luck folk lurking behind the shadows of the doorways who eyed them like they were an opportunity, nobody made a run at them.

"So while we're killing time on a side of town that might kill us, tell me about yourself." Lois suggested, to fill in the silence. "We've got nothing else to do right now."

"What do you want to know?" Clark wondered.

"Oh, anything. Doesn't matter. The basics. What everyone talks about when they're doing the 'getting to know you' stuff." Lois shrugged. "Like your parents, friends, siblings, family, pets, past relationships." She nudged him with an elbow and bobbed her eyebrows suggestively. "Any relationship skeletons in the closet? Messy break-ups? Drama? Jealous girlfriends? Boyfriends are okay too."

"No boyfriends. My parents are farmers, I'm adopted with no siblings, three dogs, my friends are all busy pursuing careers, and relationships..." Clark thought it over for a moment, if he wanted to air out the laundry on his one-time stalker, and decided against it. "No, no relationship drama at all, really. I guess I didn't date much."

"I don't believe that for a second. Handsome man like you never went on dates?" Lois tried not to let her hand linger when she tapped him on the chest. "You're educated, attractive and well-traveled. Believe me, some women find those traits very desirable."

Clark cleared his throat loudly like he was also trying to clear out the embarrassment and the weirdly pleased feeling he had from Lois's assessment. It wasn't that he had never considered himself attractive, but he had never flaunted it like bright plumage. It just wasn't his style. It seemed that as a result of not flaunting himself, he was regularly overlooked.

It was nice, though, to hear someone tell him that he was, in fact, attractive.

"You should straighten your back and fix your tie." Lois suggested.

"Why?" Clark blinked, pretending to be completely bewildered. He touched a hand to his tie, like he was trying to figure out what was wrong with it.

"For one thing, the tie is already ugly enough. The horrible knot just makes it worse." Lois said. She tapped his hunched shoulders. "And this is bad posture, Smallville. Didn't you have to take a typing class in high school? They're always extolling the merits of good posture at the computer to prevent carpal tunnel and bad eyesight." She eyed his glasses sideways. "And yours probably doesn't need to be any worse."

Clark saw the very beginnings of a blush start to creep into her cheeks. No doubt feeling the rising heat, Lois cleared her throat loudly and looked straight ahead.

"Besides, it's a matter of presentation." she said. "If you're going to be stuck with me for the week, you should know that I wade into some pretty deep situations and I interrogate people who aren't intimidated by sloppy dressing habits and the Hunchback of Notre Dame. It's the serengeti out here on the streets, Smallville. You can't show weakness for even a second. You gotta be tough, firm, and you have to keep your armor up at all times. So fix your tie and stand straight, or no one will take you as seriously as they should."

"I can take care of myself." Clark said, a little indignant for reasons he could not immediately pinpoint.

"So can I. I didn't ask for a bodyguard." Lois said, shrugging. "But like I said, you're stuck with me this week. And I have a reputation to salvage; the _Metropolis Star_ has been printing slander about me for the sake of it. If you're going to be representing me, essentially, you're going to look nice while doing it."

She looked at his tie again, what she could see of it; the lumpy knot sticking out above his coat lapels.

"I'll even teach you how to tie that thing correctly." she offered.

Clark touched the knot again. "Dad tried."

His dad just hadn't worn a tie in years. Living life out on a farm meant that Johnathan had few reasons to gussy up nice and neat. He rarely attended events where ties were part of the dress code. Tying a tie again after two decades of not having to wear one was not like riding a bike.

"Well, some people actually tell me I'm a good teacher." Lois said. She made a face like she couldn't believe people actually thought that about her.

"Thank you, Ms. Lane." Clark said. "Despite all the rumors about you, I think you're a decent person." he added.

Lois shrugged. "You still have time to change your mind." she said.

Something about the way she said that gave Clark the somewhat unsettling feeling that she was not talking about his decision to accompany her on whatever illegal jaunt they were about to take, but rather the fact he had decided that she was a decent person.

Had she been told otherwise so many times that she believed it?

* * *

-0-


	4. The Damning Evidence

Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, favorite'd and followed. I'm giving Nanowrimo a shot this year so I might not be very chatty.

Also on tumblr.

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Chapter Four: The Damning Evidence

By the time they made it back around the block to the front entrance of the apartment building, the only thing they could be sure of was that Mr. Colon had made it down the stairs. They were lurking now on the second-floor landing, which just overlooked the foyer, high enough out of sight that they didn't have to worry about being spotted. From here, they could watch Mr. Colon leave.

"Ms. Lane, when you said 'illegal', what exactly were you proposing?" Clark wondered in a low voice.

Lois turned her head slightly so she didn't have to look at him from the corner of her eye. "I told you. Something that might get the cops called on us if we're spotted."

"That actually covers a very broad range of activities." Clark pointed out. Especially if you looked at everything through the pessimist goggles and assumed the worst about the most innocent things.

"Don't get your crisp white undies in a knot, Smallville. It's not like we're doing something that's _more_ illegal than whatever Mr. Colon's doing." Lois said, rolling her eyes.

"I'm sure breaking and entering is up there on the list." Clark said softly. Since they were waiting for the landlord to waddle out, he could only assume that they would be going through his apartment. "Besides, if Mr. Colon is involved in something very illegal, shouldn't we at least tell the police?"

Lois snorted. " _Before_ I get the story? Are you kidding? No matter what happens, I want enough dirt to pot a tree before I turn it over to the police." she said. "How much info do you think the police will dish out once they get their paws on it?"

Clark hesitated over that. The police could be stingy with the details that got released to the public. Things they thought were too gruesome didn't make it to the news desks and some of the tamer details were just with-held on general principles. He could see where Lois was coming from.

"All right, but don't you think it would be a good idea to have an officer with us?" he questioned. He would feel a little better about having one, not just for Lois's sake, but so he wouldn't have to answer the possible question of: _'why did that bullet bounce off your chest?'_

"I've never gotten the police involved first and I'm not about to start." Lois declared.

"That seems a little dangerous."

"What can I say? I live life on the edge."

Clark frowned at the back of her head. Perry had told him that Lois could be difficult to work with and he would completely understand if he wanted to shadow a different reporter. She lost partners because they said she was too reckless, too impulsive, taking stupid risks in the name of getting the story, and pissing off all the wrong people in the process. Her approach had been too aggressive for the _Metro Eagle_ and she had scared the _Daily News_. People couldn't ignore the negatives long enough to see that she was a fantastic reporter. Perry felt that she needed someone level-headed to try and bring her back down to earth. He didn't anticipate meeting anyone like that in this lifetime, but he would feel a lot better about Lois's excursions if she had someone trustworthy watching her back.

It took guts and balls of brass to get the stories that Lois Lane got. No question about it.

"Oh, hurry _up_ , fatty. My feet are falling asleep." Lois groaned softly. She shifted on her feet, trying to relieve some of the pressure her crouched position was putting on them.

"He can only move so fast, Ms. Lane." Clark reminded her gently.

"That's his own damn fault, you know." Lois growled. "You don't get that fat by moderating your intake and being active in general. It takes a lot of work to become a planet. I mean, the funds alone to support the over-eating... He must be _this close_ to being house-bound." She held up two fingers just millimeters apart to demonstrate how close"And the _smell_... What are the odds he can't even fit in the shower anymore?"

"Ms. Lane, I don't like talking about people behind their backs." Clark said, feeling a tad uncomfortable. It was a staple of human conversation to gossip, but Clark had seen how vicious the rumor mill could get. He had been the victim of a vicious rumor mill. He didn't like gossiping about people any more than he liked being gossiped about.

Lois shrugged. "Suit yourself."

There came the sound of a door squeaking open, followed by ponderous footsteps. Lois flattened herself to the floor of the landing and Clark shifted back out of sight until he couldn't see the foyer below. He glanced down at Lois; her attention was riveted, her eyes forward. Clark tipped his glasses down and peered through the wall.

There was just enough lead in the lenses of his fake glasses to stop his x-ray vision and it took the edge off his heat vision too. The lead plating also had the side-effect of muting his memorably bright blue eyes to a dull navy. His trip across the Eurasian continent had showed him that people tended to remember his eyes before they remembered his face.

He wasn't too good at using his x-ray vision yet. The image would drift in and out of "focus", or he would see too far and too much. He suspected it was because of how little he had actually used his x-ray since it had first developed. It was like the rest of his powers, the flight and the strength and such. For both, he'd had to work on the control of it, practice with it. He'd have to do the same for his x-ray vision.

It held pretty steady this time, though he was concentrating magnificently on peering through the wall. The image wasn't as clear as he liked, but he could still see Mr. Colon wrapped in a coat that was too small for his ample frame, huffing and waddling laboriously towards the door. It seemed to take an age before he shuffled up to the door and let himself out in a gust of cold air.

Clark blinked and pushed his glasses back up his nose, cutting out his x-ray vision. Lois waited another ten seconds to see if the slumlord might come back. When it was apparent that he wasn't in the middle of turning around, Lois hopped to her feet and headed down the stairs.

"Ms. Lane!" Clark hissed, making a useless gesture that would have been him grabbing a shoulder or an arm if she had been standing closer.

"Either stay there and keep watch or come on and make yourself useful. One or the other." Lois instructed impatiently.

Clark didn't think there was a way he could talk her out of it. The fiery reporter wasn't one of those people who easily listened to reason. Perry seemed to think a college-level thesis outlining your reasons for why Thing A was a stupid idea was the only thing that could remotely sway Lois, but even then your chances weren't great.

Lois moved out of sight, away from the stairs and to the slumlord's apartment door.

 _Ugh..._ Clark thought, rubbing a hand up his forehead and under the brim of his hat. _I was going to try and keep her out of trouble. I know it's half the reason Perry assigned me with her..._

Because Lois Lane walked up to danger and laughed at it.

He quickly followed. If his feet didn't quite touch the stairs on the way down, if his shoes didn't quite make a sound on the concrete floor, then no one was around to notice. Lois hadn't gotten far in the meantime. She was crouched beside the slumlord's door with her ear pressed to the cheap plywood and fiddling with the lock, trying to spring it open with a hair-pin.

"Do you expect to find anything in there, Ms. Lane?" Clark wondered.

"Won't know until I look." Lois replied, scowling in frustration as the hair-pin refused to work its usual magic. "I don't suppose you know anything about jimmying open locks?"

"Can't say that I do." Clark tapped the door. "But it is plywood. You could probably just put your foot through it."

"Nope, not leaving that much evidence behind me. Bad idea." Lois told him. "You sure you can't pick a lock?"

"To be honest, I've never tried."

He could melt the lock. He could force the door open just by knocking on it. He could even break it off its hinges. But Clark Kent wasn't supposed to be able to do anything like that, so he had to stand there and keep watch while Lois made increasingly frustrated expressions before the lock finally gave up the battle with a sullen ***click***.

"Kiss my ass." she told it triumphantly.

She pushed open the door and felt immediately for the light switch. The hall light came on, illuminating a scene of utter horror that Clark was sure belonged in a scary movie.

Logically, he knew that the obese and otherwise mobility-challenged had a tendency to be more slovenly, if only because they weren't as able-bodied when it came to just getting around the house to clean up. It wasn't that they were particularly messy. It was more that things tended to build up a little at a time and they couldn't keep up.

And then there were those who simply couldn't be arsed.

Homer Colon was the latter.

This was not a man who was motivated to clean up after himself. His apartment, what they could see of it from the doorway, was awash in pizza boxes, burger wrappers, take-out boxes from across the city, drink cups, and his own unwashed laundry. There was piles and piles of just- _-_ _crap_ that ranged from trash to desiccated roach corpses to rotting food and more things than Clark could scarcely imagine. Even from the doorway, he could smell the powerful stench of human waste and quite a bit of it seemed to originate from a lumpy thing that must have been couch. It was in front of the television, so it couldn't have been anything else.

He hadn't even entered and his eyes were already starting to water.

A live roach skittered across the stained floor. It was as long as Clark's little finger, antennae wavering in the air currents as it embarked on a search for food.

Lois made a sound that might have been a scream, if it had just been a little louder and less squeaky.

"Are you going to be okay?" Clark asked, because this was the second time she had reacted like this. Her posture was tense again, her expression suggesting she was either going to scream properly or hurl up her breakfast, but either action would end with her running.

"I- _-_ I- _-_ " Lois twitched, her voice breaking before she found it again. "I'm a military brat, Smallville. I could bounce a quarter off my bedsheets; they were always tighter than a drum. I had to mop my bedroom floor once a week and help with the dusting. Mom kept the dining table so clean you could actually perform surgery on it. We put bleach in the toilet every evening! We lived in base housing; everything was expected to be neat and tidy! I have high standards for cleanliness! And physical fitness! This is a _nightmare_!"

Clark smiled sympathetically. "I'm sorry."

If she was a military brat, that explained her reactions. The military held its members to a standard, expounding self-discipline in all realm of things, from house-keeping to physical fitness. If Lois had grown up on-base, then she had likely been raised in a somewhat strict environment where even the little things were enforced.

No doubt, Mr. Colon's apartment and the man himself were like nightmares for her.

"But it's not gonna stop me." Lois coached herself, wiping the revolted expression off her face and replacing it with a determined one. "I'm not going to let a pigsty stop me from getting the story!"

Clark peered into the gloomy depths of the apartment. "Calling it a pigsty is an insult to pigsties, Ms. Lane. They're much cleaner than this." he said.

Lois scowled. "Do you mind? I'm trying to psyche myself up for something unpleasant. Quit trying to discourage me." she snapped.

Clark smiled apologetically and made an 'after-you' gesture, inviting his temporary partner to venture in first. Lois squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, then stepped tentatively into the apartment. She took light, tiny steps, like she was afraid of disturbing the atmosphere too much. He couldn't blame her. He wasn't sure what color the hall rug had been initially, but surely it hadn't started off as at that odd shade of yellow-green.

"Oh my god, it _stinks_ in here." Lois complained, covering her nose against smells that men were not meant to live with, but did anyways. She looked back at Clark, who was following her in. "How are you not smelling that?"

"I grew up on a farm. I'm pretty used to strong smells." Clark replied. He _was_ smelling it, but he had also learned how to ignore stronger smells. He didn't have much of a choice.

Lois shot him a glare that was more envious than anything.

"But that doesn't mean my eyes aren't watering." he added, because they were.

"We're standing in the belly of the beast." Lois said, slightly dramatically as she gazed around the hazardous excuse for a living area. Even the quality of light was terrible. "I'm going to need to bathe in bleach tonight."

Clark shrugged up a little and tried not to let any of the piles touch him. "What are we looking for?"

"I don't know if I even want to look for it." Lois admitted, shivering. "I would have brought a pair of gloves and a face-mask, if I'd known it was going to be this bad. Oh god, I feel like I'm going to develop a respiratory problem."

Mr. Colon's apartment was sort of like the home of a hoarder; there was just so much crap laying about in moldering piles. But hoarders had a mental issue that just wouldn't allow them to let anything go and for some, a part of them fully understood that there was a problem. Mr. Colon was just too lazy to do anything about the piles. He was wallowing in his own filth. Even a hoarder could still work the toilet.

With a sideways glance at Lois, Clark nudged his glasses down and tried not to x-ray the piles too deeply or stare for too long. Nonetheless, he still regretted everything he saw, even if he did find the outline of a filing cabinet.

"Ms. Lane, there's a filing cabinet." he told her, making his way over to it.

"Oh, good eyes, Smallville!" Lois praised, gingerly making her way over to join him.

The filing cabinet was half-hidden under a pile of- _-_ Well, he wasn't sure what. It appeared to be a pile of towels so dirty and unwashed that they had crusted to the side of cabinet and fused with particles of food the size of Clark's fist. Lois eyed the whole thing askance.

"Is it going to eat us?" she wondered.

"I don't think so." Clark said, but at the same time, he nudged what was very clearly a plant pot at the base of the pile.

"I hope that's dead." Lois said. "I don't want to invoke the wrath of Audrey II."

"Don't worry, I'm indestructible." Clark told her, reaching for the top drawer.

"You'd better be."

 _Here's hoping I am._ Clark thought, because he didn't know if he actually was. He had survived a lot of things that would kill a normal human, but there must have been a limit. Who knew? Maybe getting bitten by a semi-sentient plant mutated in the apartment of a morbidly obese man was the thing that did him in.

But the strange pile of maybe-even-God-didn't-know what didn't shift or otherwise show any indication that it was alive in any manner. Clark slid open the top drawer without any trouble. The inside of the drawer looked like it was a sterile zone in comparison to the apartment, with just a bit of dust. There had been a haphazard attempt at organization with file folders, but for the most part, the papers were just laying around. Lois dug her hands into the stack and peeled off a bundle of paper, skimming through it quickly.

"Property deeds." she reported. She peered at the next few pages down. "And tenant information."

Clark extracted a folded and battered sheet from the side of the drawer. He smoothed it out.

"And a map of New Troy?" He blinked, not sure what to make of it. It looked like a public transportation map, but he wasn't sure.

Lois leaned over his arm. "The Metro map for New Troy." she confirmed. "From ten years ago. That section doesn't exist anymore." she added, pointing to a line of rail that skimmed the curved northern edge of Midtown down to the Suicide Slums.

"Is this odd?" Clark wondered, noticing her thoughtful frown.

"A little." Lois nodded. "No way the planet owns a car, so I bet public transportation is what he uses to get around. He'd want an updated map of the Metro system. So yeah, it's a little odd. Look at the way it's marked too."

Clark did, but he had lived in Metropolis for approximately one week now and that wasn't long enough to know what Lois was getting at. He said as much.

"Your small town origins work against you, Smallville." Lois said. "Following the bouncing finger." she instructed, and began to point at each marked location. "Planet Square. Atlas Plaza. Glenmorgan Square. Market Street. Metropolis Mall. All high-volume pedestrian areas. Lots of tourists. If you were doing something illegal that involved meeting with shady people, these are the perfect places. There's just too many people there most days; the police can't keep track of everyone."

"Unless he marked these places when he first moved to the city?" Clark suggested.

Lois shook her head. "No way, this map dates to 1996, at the latest. I did my research. Mr. Colon's been a life-time resident of the city." she explained. "That's why it's weird. Hold on, I saw his mail."

She hopped gingerly back across the living area to what Clark supposed was the coffee table. As carefully as she could without touching anything else, Lois scooped the pile of mail up off the pizza box that was currently serving as the only available flat surface.

"Junk, junk, credit card, bill, junk- _-_ Oh, this one's from the city." She pocketed that one.

"Ms. Lane! You can't just take other people's mail! That's illegal!" Clark complained.

"We're already breaking and entering. What's one more offense?" the dark-haired reporter shrugged. "Hey, this one has no return address. I bet it's important."

She pocketed that envelope too.

"Ms. Lane!"

" _Relax_ , Smallville. It's for the greater good." she said. "Besides, I'd have to open it anyways, so I might as well just take the incriminating evidence while I'm at it." She dropped the rest of the mail back onto the pizza box. "We've got enough to go on. Now let's get out of here before either of us develop staph infections."

On the way out, they startled one of the tenants just outside the door. A young man in his late twenties, blonde hair and androgynous features, his hand raised to knock. He scurried back when the door opened to reveal Lois and Clark instead of his bulbous landlord.

"Who are you?!" he yelped, drawing back defensively.

"Reporters. Lois Lane, _Daily Planet_. I won't tell if you don't." she reeled off snappily and flashed her press badge. Clark felt his pockets for his own before he remembered that he didn't have one yet. Lois inclined her head towards him. "He's new." she added for the benefit of the tenant.

"Are you- _-_ Are you covering a story?" the young man asked, looking about half-convinced. "Are you covering a story on Mr. Colon? Is it about the meth?"

Lois perked. "Is it? Do go on." she invited, a predatory expression on her face. There were drugs involved- oh this was perfect! Metropolis didn't like drug trade any more than other cities and it would be a feather in her cap if she exposed a drug network, so it was win-win all around! Perfect!

The young man inhaled like he was about to talk, but then looked shyly around the foyer, his eyes flitting over the corners. The homeless bum had abandoned his corner some time ago, but the young man seemed rather leery of the shadows. He shook his head.

"I don't know..." he said quietly, staring at the tips of his battered sneakers.

"If you've got information, share it. We'll quote you as an anonymous tip. I don't even expect to know your real name." Lois assured him, waving a hand.

"Maybe we could talk in your apartment?" Clark suggested, as gently as he could. The tenant wasn't showing many visible signs of distress, but Clark had heard the man's heart-rate jump with anxiety.

The tenant ("Call me Dave", he requested; it wasn't his real name; not with the way he had hesitated) nodded and led the reporters up to his apartment on the second floor. He only spoke once to them on the way up, to ask where Mr. Colon had gone.

From the state of his apartment, it was immediately obvious that Dave did not live alone. While it was slightly less run-down than the ones Mr. Colon had shown Lois and Clark, it wasn't in the cleanest state because it seemed Dave lived with a small child. There was a booster seat at the dining table (currently littered with what Clark recognized as bill payments), children's books scattered across the carpeted area in font of the couch, and a bucket of Legos littering the coffee table. The apartment was small, making the slight disorder and clutter seem magnified.

"I'm sorry about the mess. I wasn't expecting visitors." Dave said, grabbing the piles of clean laundry off the couch cushions to clear a space for them.

"We just saw way worse. This is nothing." Lois said, shuddering. The memory of that biohazard apartment wasn't going to go away any time in the near future. "Do you happen to have any hand sanitizer?"

"Oh, in the kitchen." Dave made gestures to the kitchenette. "Would you like anything to drink, while I'm over there?"

"Just water, please." Clark said.

Lois shrugged. "Sounds good."

Dave apparently wasn't used to having visitors either, judging from the way he bustled away awkwardly into the kitchen and made an awful lot of noise getting out the glasses from the cupboard. The two reporters sat down gingerly on the couch, sitting on the edge the way people did in a stranger's house. Lois nudged her temporary partner in the side and gave him a significant, raised-eyebrow look that Clark failed to grasp the meaning of. Lois didn't take his confusion for an answer and simply widened her eyes and tilted her head in the direction of their host.

 _Lois, I've known you for-_ - _three hours? How am I supposed to know what you're trying to tell me?_ Clark wondered, trying to convey all that with his increasingly confused look.

The dark-haired woman gave him a half-annoyed, half-frustrated look and shook her head.

"We have to work on our nonverbal communication." she whispered, leaning in to make sure her voice wouldn't carry. "Since we're stuck together this week. We should just make sure we can communicate nonverbally. Just in case we have to work together again in the future."

Dave bustled back with two glasses of water and the squeeze tube of hand sanitizer. Lois immediately squished out a glob of the stuff and began smearing it all over her hands and up her arms.

"So, meth." she began rather conversationally. "What does the Planet Colon have to do with meth?"

"He's- _-_ getting paid to hide it, I think. Or he might be a supplier." Dave replied, seating himself on the coffee table. He shook his head. "I don't know exactly. But he's getting money under the table and meth is involved."

"How do you know?" Clark asked.

Dave shivered. "'Cause he's blackmailing me to be one of his drug mules."

Lois blinked. "One? How many of you are there?" she asked.

"Most of us who live here." Dave answered, lacing his fingers together. "At least, I think. I never bothered to ask. I just try and keep my nose out of it. I figure the less I know, the better. I'm getting paid to do it. It's not a lot, but I can send my daughter to a better school across the river and it pays for my hormone therapy..."

For a second, he reddened in the face, then rubbed his cheeks.

Lois nodded. "Okay, it sounds like it this to me: Mr. Colon is being given meth to spread through the city. You guys are his mules because he's got the dirt on you. You're being paid less than you deserve, but enough to keep you crawling back." she summarized. "That sounds like the job I had in high school."

"How does the transport work?" Clark asked. "I'm sure transporting methamphetamine around the city would get noticed sooner or later."

"Not in small amounts." Lois pointed out.

Dave nodded. "Mr. Colon leaves a package outside our doors. It's maybe the size of a checkbook." he explained. "We take it to a pre-arranged place downtown. A plaza, a train station, the train itself... Centennial Park a lot. I've mostly just had to leave it on a bench and walk away."

Lois made a thoughtful face. "Is he basically using public transport to get the drugs around?"

The young man nodded.

"Oh! Suck it!" Lois crowed, throwing her fist in the air triumphantly, her whole face lighting up with glee. "Suck it you, bitch! I was right!"

"Right about what?" Clark wondered.

"About the Metropolis Metro being used for drug trafficking." Lois replied. "About six months ago, I wrote an article on inner-city smugglers using the light rail to transport their cargo around unseen, passing it from dealer to dealer. It was theoretical, based on a lot of evidence but no hard facts. And the Warfield-wench printed up a counter article that basically said I was crazy and unpatriotic. A lot of people didn't believe me. They said it was impossible to move drugs around on the light rail because someone would notice. Apparently, people are under the impression that drug smugglers stand out in a crowd because they're evil and shady. That's completely stupid. The smart ones know how to disguise themselves. There was a heroin smuggler out of San Diego that ran a legit courier business for years! Right under everyone's noses! No one knew until she turned herself in!"

She thrust her fists into the air again. "But I was right! I am the champion! Take that, you bitch!"

Clark turned to Dave. "I think we have everything we need to know, thank you." he said.

"Yes, thank you." Lois agreed, briskly shaking the young man's hand and leaving behind a business card. "If there anything else you need to tell us, we're at the _Daily Planet_. Don't worry, it's all anonymous."

"So I won't get in trouble for... this?" Dave asked tremulously.

Lois shook her head. "Not unless you do it yourself." she said. "And since you were coerced, the police probably won't look twice at you- _-_ Well, you might get fined, you'll definitely get questioned... But I don't think you'll spend any time in jail." She patted his shoulder. "Just take it easy, Dave."

Dave still looked troubled and unsure when the two reporters departed. Clark didn't hear the man's apartment door close until they were on the stairs. He wondered what had caused the uncertainty and chalked it up to feelings of general nervousness. Some people tried to go their entire lives keeping their heads down and staying out of everything and Dave had already told them that there was a _lot_ he was keeping his head down for. People like him went very far not to be considered a rabble-rouser, even if it meant turning a blind eye to something that was blatantly illegal, especially when it meant losing one's livelihood. And possibly, Dave stood to lose custody of his daughter as well.

"Mr. Colon doesn't seem to be the man with the plan." Clark commented, on their way down the snow-covered front walk. Mr. Colon's waddling steps had carved a path.

"Hmm, the plan being meth? What gives you that idea?" Lois wondered. She was eyeing the letter from the city, clearly contemplating whether to open it right there, or not.

"He doesn't seem smart enough to do it all on his own." Clark admitted. He had met a lot of very intelligent people and Mr. Colon just didn't seem to operating at the levels needed for what he was doing

"Yeah, it's called 'fat brain syndrome'. The fat basically chokes out everything." Lois told him, tearing open the envelope. "Someone's probably telling him what to do. All he really needs to do on his own is enforce the rules. He's probably good at that. He smells like a bully."

She unfolded the letter and Clark couldn't help but lean over her shoulder to read it.

"What's it say?" he asked.

"They're suing him for the property deeds." Lois summarized. "The mayor's office is suing Mr. Colon for obstructing the urban renewal and... It looks like they have the supreme court of Michigan behind them."

"Oh, that would take months just to get to the court date and not just because you stole the letter." Clark shook his head. "The court battles could take years to settle."

"Yeah, they would never be able to stick to their schedule. They want to start bulldozing next April." Lois agreed, folding the letter up. "But if he's not selling, I don't know what else they could do. Short of me uncovering something _really big_ that gets his ass in jail. The police would seize his property and search it, then it wouldn't be hard for the city to acquire it."

Clark nodded. A few of his neighbors had gotten into a court battle. Mr. Abraham had sued Mr. Willingham over the latter's dog squeezing under the fence and hassling his sheep to the point that several had bolted and two had been killed. It had taken the better part of a year to reach settlement because Mr. Abraham just wouldn't buy it that the dog had been indoors at the time. Whether or not Mr. Colon was acting alone didn't matter. He would drag out the proceedings as far as he could to wrangle out as much money as he could from the operation.

And then probably do a runner for a tropic coastline that didn't have an extradition treaty with the United States.

Then Clark heard it- _-_ No, it wasn't right to say that he _heard_ it, but his intuition sort of _pinged_. He wasn't sure if it was part of his alien biology or just a result of having to be cautious, but he had an uncanny knack for cluing in to danger. Sort of like his own spidey-sense, and when he cast his senses around, he heard the footsteps about fifteen feet behind them and the smell of cordite from a recently fired gun.

"Ms. Lane, I don't want to alarm you, but I think we're being followed." Clark alerted her. "I just have a feeling."

Lois raised her head and to her credit, she didn't start looking over her shoulder. Her expression didn't show any fear, but the same sort of determination she had shown before entering Mr. Colon's nasty apartment, tempered by a great deal of self-confidence.

"How many?" she asked.

"Maybe one?" Clark shrugged. Definitely one pair of footsteps, for now.

"Alright, keep acting natural. If they catch us, they should know I don't carry more than fifteen dollars in cash on me and I'm prepared to put my heel through my phone. It's under warranty; I can get it replaced." Lois said. She glanced down at his shoes. "Like I asked, can you run in those?"

"It shouldn't be a problem." Clark replied. "And I'm fast. I was on the football team. The coach would make us train with the cross-country team sometimes."

"Good. As soon as we're around that corner, we run like goddamn bastards." Lois instructed, making a small gesture to the end of the block.

Just as soon as she said it, like she was tempting fate, a black teen came around the corner, wrapped in a hoodie and raising a gun. He smiled at them, showing vaguely discolored teeth. Lois had to stop short and stutter-stepped back, right into Clark's chest (it wasn't the time to notice, but his chest felt like a solid wall against her shoulders). The one following behind them, a white teen in a similar hoodie, came rushing up and Clark heard the click-click of the safety being turned off. The white teen came around into their line of sight, holding his gun at waist-level. Both teens must have been no more than eighteen or so, featuring just a little scruff of beard on their chins.

"Hands up. No funny business." the black teen ordered, jerking the gun to accentuate his point.

"Hold on, you don't want to do this." Clark said, trying to be reasonable.

"Shut up and raise your hands, Kent." Lois said, whacking him in the chest as she raised her hands. "They've got guns. You don't argue with the guys holding the guns! Just do what they say!"

The black teen chuckled. "That's right, listen to the little fawkes, redneck." he said, obviously catching Clark's distinct drawl; it stood out like a flare in this neck of the woods. He watched in amusement while Clark put his hands up as ordered. "Yeah, this the big city, country mouse. You gonna get squashed worse than a bug. You stepped into the wrong 'hood."

* * *

-0-


	5. A Long Walk Off a Short Pier

The elder cat is doing much better. Barring any follow-up vet visits, I oughta be back on schedule.

* * *

Chapter Five: A Long Walk Off a Short Pier

 _So much for having a bodyguard._ Lois thought with a soft snort, as the hoodlums closed in on them. It seemed that having a big guy around didn't deter anyone who had a gun and walked with a swinging dick.

If she had to pick just one thing to hate about the West River, it was the lack of local police.

As in, none at all.

The Suicide Slums had Officer James Harper, the prowling tomcat of a policeman. And there were a few other officers who called the area home. More or less, this ensured that the Slums didn't get too out of hand. As long as people knew there were cops around, then the neighborhood effectively served as a panopticon.

Metrodale was regularly visited by cops too, even if they were looking for a little bit of whoopee in its red-lit establishments. Officially off-duty but they always wandered about the area with their badges and gun, because it was safer for them that way. The street gangs were just sensible enough to not hassle the officers, since they didn't always know which were the dirty cops. Like the Slums, Metrodale had the feel of a panopticon. It was never a good idea to be caught alone after dark, but both areas carried the illusion of police control and sometimes, that was enough to enforce a modicum of order on the good days.

The West River was controlled by fear and by whomever was feared the most. That translated to 'whoever carries the bigger stick was the man in charge'.

And there was no doubt about. Right now, Clark and Lois did not carry the bigger stick.

"Don't even think 'bout bouncin' out." the black teen said. "You hotshots think you can come walking on to _our_ turf?"

"Keep your dick in your pants and buy a belt." Lois snapped, not about to be bullied or intimidated by someone seven or more years her junior. "I mean that both ways. You need a belt, for real."

"Shut the fuck up!" the black teen snapped, jerking the gun in a way that made Clark fear for Lois's safety. "Now, there's a door 'round the corner, 'bout twenty feet down. You're going to walk inside, no questions. Just walk. You said it yourself, fawkes. We got the guns and you don't argue with us." He grinned at Clark. "Ain't that right?"

"Dern tootin'." Clark said in half a grumble. They wanted a redneck, he would give them a redneck.

"Ooh, you're organized. Was this planned?" Lois asked, actually looking interested. "It feels like this was planned, what with you following us and everything. It's a bad plan, though."

"Ah, I don't think now the's time to be laughing in the face of danger." Clark suggested.

"Just walk!" the white teen snarled. "Just walk or one of you gets a bullet in their foot!"

"You're not even holding the gun right." Lois told him even as she walked forward. She nodded to the black teen. "Neither are you. Don't hold your arm like that; bend your elbow a little or the kickback will be murder."

"I thought you said we weren't supposed argue with the guys holding the guns." Clark said a little accusingly while they rounded the corner.

"Oh, I'm not arguing. I'm just offering some helpful advice." Lois replied brightly. "I mean, if we're going to get mugged, I'd rather be mugged by competent muggers."

"We ain't muggin' you." the white teen snapped impatiently.

"So, what? Rape, then? This has to be the most organized rape I've ever heard about." Lois canted an eyebrow. "But it's still bad. Trust me, you don't want what I got, which is a yeast infection."

The black teen made a vaguely ill sound.

"We're not raping you either." he said, sounding weary of this conversation already.

"Okay, I don't actually have a yeast infection." Lois admitted, rolling her eyes. "My god, what is wrong with people your age? I heard gross old men talking all the time about their dicks or their prostates, but god forbid a woman mentions her vagina if there isn't a dick involved."

"Clapper the church-bell already!" the black teen ordered. "God, you're a mouthy bitch!"

"Where are you from, Gotham? Normal people around here just say 'shut up'." Lois pointed out. "And believe me, being a bitch is just part of my charm. Thanks for the compliment!"

"They have guns." Clark reminded her in an undertone. He would survive getting shot. If the spikes of a harvester combine couldn't pierce his skin, it was safe bet a bullet wouldn't either.

Lois, on the other hand, wasn't so durable.

The black teen grabbed a rust-scabbed door handle and wrenched open the weather-beaten door, just twenty feet down from the corner. "Get inside." he ordered, waving the gun again.

Lois muttered something that sounded like "Pushy" and both reporters ducked through the doorway. They stepped into a dark front room. There were just thin slivers of light coming from the the boarded-up windows and when the door closed, they could hardly see a thing.

For Clark that lasted about two seconds before his eyes started adjusting. Then something hard and wooden cracked off the back of his head and splinters rained down on his shoulders. At most, his hat got knocked off and there was a sense of momentary disorientation. He saw Lois stagger and drop to the dirty floor like a puppet with severed strings. He blinked.

A flashlight flared on, held up by the black teen and his jaw started to fall open. There was another pair of teens standing behind him, each holding pieces of plywood. The one that had struck Lois was still intact, but the one for Clark had shattered against his enhanced physiology. Slowly, it dawned on him that this was supposed to be an ambush. He was supposed to be knocked out and senseless, like Lois was.

"Oh, uhh..." He shifted, trying to figure out how to salvage this. If he had known the ambush was coming, he might have faked it. As it was, he could always grab Lois and fly for it, but that might raise a few questions that he didn't know how to answer yet. Like how he too hadn't been knocked out, amongst others.

But Clark wasn't exactly good at acting on his feet, at least where his powers were concerned. At times, they just sort of jumped out at him when he didn't have an explanation ready. Lana and Pete had often been much quicker to cover for him in those moments. For a second, Clark was aware of the stupefied gaping from the teens around him and his brain scrambled for _anything_ to say.

"Hello." he said, wiggling his still-raised hands. "I think I just have a hard head."

"Fuck!" The black teen brought his gun to bear.

 _Okay, time to fake this one._ Clark thought.

He saw the bullet exit the barrel as time seemed to slow down enough for him to trace the trajectory of the projectile. He shifted himself to the side so the bullet would strike his arm as opposed to anywhere else.

For the four teens on the outside, they just saw the reporter jerk and let out a howl of pain, clapping his hand over his arm. Clark hoped the scream that he let out and the gritted teeth expression of pain was convincing enough. He let himself stagger and slip down onto one knee, making sure he didn't fall on Lois. She was already going to have a headache when she regained consciousness.

"Hit him again!" the black teen instructed.

The teen with the still intact piece of plywood lunged forward and brought it down on top of Clark's head. Ready for it this time, Clark rolled with the blow as to not break the wood this time. He closed his eyes and let himself topple limply to the floor, landing on his "injured" arm. While the bullet had gone through his clothes, it had pancaked against his skin like it would against bullet proof armor. It wouldn't even bruise. It hardly ached.

"Jeezus! Did you see that?! He didn't even blink the first time!" one of the plywood teen complained over Clark's head. "I mean, fuck! It's like he didn't even feel it!"

"Dude, it don't matter. We got him." said the white teen from the street. "They gonna learn why we don't like snoopers in our business."

His glasses had slid down his nose, giving Clark enough room to simply X-ray right through his own eyelids. He watched the other plywood teen nudge Lois's foot.

"Dude, you sure we can't have a little fun first?" he wondered (Clark had to quell a sudden seethe of anger). "I mean, we're just dumpin' 'em, right? No one's gonna know."

"Dude, no!" the black teen snapped, waving his gun again for emphasis. "We're just supposed to bag 'em and deliver 'em. Ain't nobody in this room takin' off their pants and getting shifty! Besides, ain't you got a girl?"

The hopeful teen made a grumbling noise. "Yeah, but she ain't been puttin' out."

"Then do somethin' real nice for her." the black teen suggested. "She ain't gotta spread her legs just 'cause you crawl through her window at three in the morning. You don't get sex if you don't do something to deserve it! Hell, she ain't gotta spread her legs period! You have her around just for sex and you ain't in no relationship!"

Clark applauded mentally. Shockingly sound relationship advice from a hoodlum teenager who probably knew more about disposing a body than he did about mathematics. Not exactly what Clark himself would have said, but the sentiment was there; that a relationship needed to have some substance and couldn't be based entirely on sex.

"Alright, get the cuffs and tie 'em up." the black teen instructed.

Clark dropped his x-ray vision so he was staring at the back of his eyelids and considered ways to get out of this situation without tipping anyone off to his powers. They were being "delivered", so it wasn't a random mugging. But delivered to who? Clark had been in the city just a little over a week now, so he hadn't made enemies; he hadn't had the time. Lois had been in Metropolis for closer to a decade and a reporter for almost a year or so now. If these were her regular tactics, then surely she had made some people very unhappy.

And why go for the rookie?

Maybe whoever they were being delivered to would have the answers.

For now, as his wrists were bound behind his back, Clark would be patient.

* * *

It was a Monday.

That was the first thing that occurred to Lois when her brain was conscious enough to start thinking again, however absently. She had gone investigating shady folk, gotten beaten up, tied up against the wall, sporting a dull headache (nothing some good coffee and an aspirin wouldn't cure), and she was still about halfway to getting the story. She was on the right track, though.

Yep, just another Monday in the life of Lois No Middle Name Lane.

(Though if she **had** a middle name, it probably would have been the name of her great-aunt's on her father's side and god she had felt like she had dodged a bullet there; her mom had said it would be too cruel. 'Lois Bernice Lane' just didn't have the same snappy, whippy, punchy effect as the alliterative 'Lois Lane'; it just made her sound like a doting maiden aunt. She liked her snappy alliterative name. It was a good reporter name. Like 'Clark Kent'. Short, punchy names. Easy to to remember and after a while, it was sort of fun to say them; Clark Kent, Clark Kent...)

Lois felt her muddled and wandering thoughts starting to come together, while the origin of the headache started to become clear and there was an aching lump up near the crown of her skull. There was sort of a numb feeling in the tips of her fingers and she recognized the pressure of her wrists being bound. Handcuffs, it felt like. Stolen from a police officer, no doubt. She wiggled her fingers to see if that made a difference in the residual numbness.

"Ms. Lane?"

Clark's voice was a soft, low rumble that seemed to reverberate right up the back of her spine. Fingers nudged against her hands. Lois twisted her neck until she felt the vertebrae go loose, trying to work some of the grogginess out of her head.

"Ms. Lane?"

Clark's voice was more urgent this time, accompanied by a set of elbows tapping off her back and Lois realized that she was tied back to back with the rookie. That wall behind her was actually the hayseed.

"Heya, Smallville." she said, grinning and trying to sound slightly upbeat. "Glad you're still sticking with me."

"Well, I sort of can't go anywhere without you." Clark pointed out. "They bound our wrists together."

For an instant, Lois thought it sounded sort of sweet ( _Sweet? They must have hit me harder than I thought!_ ), until he moved his arms and hers followed the movement of their own accord. She looked down at her feet. Her legs were arranged a little awkwardly; she was sitting more on her hip than her butt. A cloudy set of handcuffs had lashed her ankles together.

"Ankles too. I'm not exactly able to run anywhere at the moment. Not that I'd leave you behind!" he added hurriedly.

"You're a charmer Smallville." Lois told him. She slowly twisted her wrists inside the cuffs. Had to be police-grade; they were still in pretty good shape. These folks were organized for an off-the-cuff kidnapping. "How's your head?"

"Still thumping." Clark lied. "How's yours?"

"I'll live. I've had it worse." Lois shrugged. "Where are we?"

It was a dim room where the blinds were pulled over the windows. It looked like a bare, vacant office with an inch of dust on the floor, the kind you might find in just about _any_ office building for rent.

"I'm not sure exactly, but I woke up just before they took us inside." Clark said (not true, he had been awake the whole time). "It looked like a warehouse to me. I'm not sure about the side of town, but I could hear the water and there was something that looked like a shipping yard?"

He didn't add that he knew exactly what side of the city they were on. They had circled the blocks for at least five minutes, but Clark hadn't had any trouble figuring out where they were. His physiology seemed to hone in on the sun's location like a lodestone. He knew it was early afternoon and they had gone north first and then east. There was only so far east you could go in Metropolis before running out of ground.

"Shipping yard? Are you sure about that?" Lois asked.

"It sounded like one." Clark nodded. "The sun was above me and I caught a glimpse of the city to my left. I saw the LexCorp building."

He had been able to smell the water almost a mile away from it and the scent was still strong in his nose. There was a sort of fishy smell that was prevalent around harbors, but over fresh water, it was more of decaying smell than a salty one. He could still hear the thump-thump of boat hulls knocking into the piers, the clank of riggings, and the chatter of the workers as they went about their business.

"Reeves Harbor." Lois guessed. "The Lexcorp building's in the Business District. If you could see it on the left, then we must be at Reeves Harbor." She breathed in deeply through her nose and snorted out the scent that came in. "Yeah, I can smell the fish. This is where all the fishing trawlers come in. Cargo freighters drop off at Hob's Bay; the water's deeper."

"Is that good? For us, I mean?" Clark wondered, silently marveling at the young woman's knowledge of the cityscape.

Lois shrugged. "Not so much. Reeves Harbor means Oaktown and Oaktown's probably just a few steps between Metrodale and the Slums when it comes to police presence." she explained.

"And that means?..." Clark prompted.

"And that means we're on our own." Lois answered. "Oaktown's an outlier neighborhood, but it's also quiet. When the police come through, they don't expect to find anything, so they don't look. If anything happens, it's under the table."

Oaktown was a low-end neighborhood that had taken a hard hit from the collapse of the copper mine. While no area of the city had been hit harder than the Slums, Oaktown had taken a harder blow than most. It was recovering now, back on its feet and limping along like a last-place marathon runner determined to finish. It was building up its internal economy around the fish market.

The problem with Reeves Harbor was that it was far enough from the city proper that illegal activity wasn't as closely watched for as it should have been. Hob's Bay had customs agents and a Coast Guard ship on patrol at any given time. There were inspections to pass, checks to do, and everyone was required to have some form of documentation that could be traced back to legitimate authorities. Down in Hob's Bay, the Metropolis Port Authority didn't take no bullshit from no one.

Reeves Harbor was supposed to see nothing but fishing trawlers. There wasn't supposed to anyone sneaking in from Canada or transporting illegal and stolen goods. Legal, domestic goods only. That was the intention.

Lois rolled her eyes. And people wondered how the illegal stuff was still getting into the city.

"That seems lazy." Clark commented.

"You can write about the slovenly police later, Smallville, when we're not so tied up." Lois said, shifting her hands this way and that, trying to figure out how they were bound together.

"Was that- _-_ supposed to be funny?" Clark wondered.

"What was?" Lois asked, her mind more focused on the task.

"About us being tied up."

Lois blinked, the realization coming over her that she had made something of a pun. And a bad one. They were literally tied up, har, har. She hadn't even been trying to be funny.

"Oh my god! Clark Kent, this isn't the time!" she snapped, digging her elbows into his back enough to make him jump. "I think they just crossed our wrists. All we have to do is uncross them..."

"And then what, hop out?" Clark asked. They wouldn't be getting very far like that and he would probably snap the handcuffs on accident. "If we're not careful and synchronized, we'll just fall over and getting back up will be even harder. We'll have to work together- _-_ "

"I **can** play with others, Smallville." Lois scowled. "Now are we doing this or not?"

"It's a bad idea." Clark pointed out- _-_ stubbornly? Yes, that was stubbornness Lois detected. "It's a bad idea and I'm not afraid to tell you that."

A sense of déjà vu washed over her before she remembered that those were words she had said not more than an hour ago. He had parroted her own words back to her. A grin spread across Lois's face.

"I think I'm starting to like you, Smallville. I really think I am." she said, amused. There was something kind of- _-_ well, ballsy about repeating her own words back to her. Not many people back-talked her in the first place. She hadn't been lying earlier; she didn't often get the point where she might like someone outside of professional courtesy.

"But seriously, have you got a better plan? Because if you don't, then shut up."

Clark shrugged. "No, I don't think I do."

He did, actually, but it wasn't much better than hopping for their lives. It involved using his powers and he sort of wanted to keep that as the absolute last resort. Literally, the last card in his proverbial deck. He didn't want it getting around that unless there was no other choice. The last time someone had caught wind of his abilities, the ensuing fracas had included the involvement of a extra-governmental agency run by someone who did not seem the most sane and he had very nearly discovered that Clark was not from 'round these parts. The only reason that Clark was not in a lab right now being poked and prodded was because he had spent pretty much all of his life pretending to be normal and thus he was quite convincing.

But he didn't want to repeat it.

Lois tried not to gnaw on her lower lip as she considered the consequences of her decidedly not good idea. It wasn't well-informed enough to be a plan. A plan was something you devoted time to thinking about and having the necessary insider information. An idea was something that you ran with by the seat of your pants, insider information be damned.

Then again, Lois was not accustomed to having a well thought-out plan, since she often did quite well without having one.

The door banged open, shedding artificial light into the dim room. Two hired thug-types stomped in first, followed by a young man who was just distinctive enough to stand out in a line-up, but would otherwise pass under the radar.

"Ah, you must be the forebrain of the operation." Lois declared. She tugged against the cuffs, leaning forward far enough to see the large, bulbous, and oozing outline of Mr. Colon. "And there's the hindbrain. Where's the mid-brain?"

The forebrain didn't take the bait. He looked over the two reporters with a deepening scowl. Then he turned away with a terse: "Sink them." and left just as quickly as he had come.

"What? No gloating? I'm disappointed! Where are your theatrics?!" Lois demanded.

"Shut up, bitch." the closest hired gun ordered, pointing his gun at her, a large semi-automatic rifle.

Lois peered at the firearm. "Is that an AR-15, lightweight, intermediate cartridge magazine-fed, air cooled rifle with a rotating-lock bolt? Direct impingement gas operation or long/short stroke piston operation?"

Thug One blinked. "What?"

"What? _What_? That's military-grade weaponry you're holding and all you can say is 'what'?" Lois rolled her eyes in annoyance. "And you!" She glared at Thug Two. "If I asked you what 'IAR' stood for, would you be able to tell me, or do you just swing that thing around and pray that you hit something- _-_ ouch!"

Clark had elbowed her in the back.

"I thought you told me that we shouldn't argue with the people holding the guns." he said.

"Oh no, a stupid teenager will shoot anything that moves, if they get angry enough. These guys, I'm assuming, are somewhat professional and more cool-headed." Lois said, jerking her head towards the thugs.

"Lady, I'm gonna blow your fucking brains out if you don't shut up." Thug Two threatened.

"Do you know where to find the trigger?" Lois asked with a derisive snort.

Clark elbowed her again. "Stop antagonizing them!"

"Jeesuz bitch, would you listen to the man?" Thug One rolled his eyes. He shouldered the gun and produced a set of keys from his pocket. "Now listen, I don't wanna have to drag the pair of you out to the boat. I got a twingy back. I'm uncuffing your feet, but that's it. And my friend here's gonna have his gun on you the whole time, so don't try anything stupid like kicking me in the face or you won't have a foot left to kick with. Do you understand that or I'm gonna have to make a point?"

"For not knowing what kind of gun you're carrying, you're awfully eager to use it." Lois told him.

Clark elbowed her a third time, getting a pronounced wince out of her. He twisted his head around so he was looking over his shoulder. "We understand. We won't move a muscle." he told the thugs.

"That's more like it." Thug One said.

He pushed the assault rifle up out of his way and kneeled down beside Lois's legs. Thug Two hefted his own rifle into firing position. Before Thug One even got close with the keys, he put his shin across her legs, not far above her ankles and pressed down with his weight to keep her from kicking out. Then he unlocked the cuffs and winched them off.

 _He's not ex-military, but he's something._ Lois mused, watching him spring back like her legs were angry cobras. _Ex-security force let go for being too rough, maybe? Prison guard? That job has a high turn-over rate._

Thug One repeated the process with Clark. In the back of his mind, Clark mused that if the hired gun knew how strong he really was, then he wouldn't be so confident. He wouldn't have that little smirk on his face.

"Alright, get up!" the thug ordered, stepping back and bringing his rifle back around.

"Just give us a minute." Lois glowered. She nudged Clark. "C'mon hayseed, we gotta do this together or we're not getting off this floor. At least we won't have to hop."

"At least." Clark agreed.

It was only a little difficult to manage, as Clark had a minimum of six inches on her. It took them a few seconds to work out the logistics of standing up in tandem. But even then, they were still back to back.

"Can we turn around?" Lois requested. "It would be really annoying if we had to crab-step the whole way. You'd have to wait on us."

The two thugs looked at each other for a contemplative second and then nodded. Turning around was another thing the two reporters needed a moment to finagle. It was finding the way to turn that wouldn't tie their arms up, but they got it done.

Lois still didn't like it. It was still too awkward a position to properly run and there was no way of knowing just how fast Clark was if they had to hoof it. Could he keep up if running became an option? They had to walk lock-step while Thug Two poked them in the back at alternate moments. And they weren't even taken through the facility itself. They had been stashed in an office just inside the door, the rest of the warehouse screened off by an opaque plastic curtain. Lois could only hear what was going on, but she would bet it was a meth lab on the other side.

 _I'm getting this story down. I'm going to destroy your operation._ She thought. _Do you know how many times I've been shot at? I'm still standing. I'm practically indestructible. I_ _ **will**_ _get this story down. You'll be reading it from the inside of a jail cell._

When they got outside, Clark's observations and her guess proved to be right. It was Reeves Harbor. Though she had said otherwise, it actually was a good thing for them. Lois had been in Metropolis long enough to make a few friends and they occupied some of the lower places in society. And her friend in Reeves Harbor saw a lot more than people gave him credit for.

Not that she had intended to tip her hand, however. Not yet.

Running was not an option for them. The scruffy men immediately around the warehouse were on the payroll and they slowed down whatever they were doing to watch the reporters be hustled past. They were escorted down the pier and into a speedboat that the thugs quickly untied from the moorings. Then the boat was zooming out across the blue-gray waters of the lake.

Lois didn't need a crystal ball to know what was about to happen.

She looked around the immediate view of the lake, searching for any boats. This late in the day, the fishing trawlers were further out, dropping their nets into the deeper waters where the cold hadn't penetrated nearly as far, where they were more likely to find the fish. Other ship-men made their livings chartering winter cruises across the lake. Out past the tidal buoys that marked the edge of Metropolis jurisdiction, the lake was almost bare. Except for one boat that was still too far away for her to get a good look at it, but she had a funny feeling she knew that boat.

"So hayseed, can you swim?" Lois asked above the noise of the wind whipping through her hair. It was icy cold; she could already feel her ears freezing. "How about a polar bear plunge, ever done that?"

Clark shifted uncomfortably. "Why are you so calm?" he wondered. He was positive they were about to be thrown over the side of the boat with their hands chained together. The water was obviously just a few degrees above the freezing mark - _-_ after Metropolis's recent cold snap. It wouldn't kill him or really slow him down, but it was a different story for Lois. The only way they were going to make it was if he used his powers.

But life-threatening situations fell under "acceptable use".

Before Lois could answer, Thug Two at the helm started easing off the gas and he cut the engine so the speedboat drifted to a relative halt. Thug One had had his gun on the reporters the whole time. When the boat stopped moving quite so fast, he stood up and gestured for them to do the same.

"Don't the condemned get a last request?" Lois wondered.

Thug One snorted. "Hell no."

"Yes, we do." Lois insisted. "How could you deny the condemned one final request? We're about to shuffle off the mortal coil and you won't treat us like human beings? That inhumane!"

"'Cause I ain't gonna let you use it as an excuse to save your life." Thug One said, rolling his eyes. "We stopped honoring those last requests 'cause uppity little fucks took it as an opportunity to run."

"Oh, it's not my life I want to save. It's his." Lois patted Clark on the chest meaningfully. "It's his first day on the job. He's just some stupid rookie who didn't know better not to follow me and the boss had him shadow me, so he didn't have a choice. My last request is that you let him go, free and clear."

The thugs stared and so did Clark, albeit for different reasons. He didn't know why the thugs looked startled, but he knew the origin of the surprise creeping over him. Sitting outside of Perry's office this morning, everyone had told him to "Watch out for Lois Lane!" An overly muscled sports columnist had actually sat down and gave him the same warning, expanding on it by explaining that Lois was only looking out for number one. In a matter of just five minutes, Clark had heard nine different things about the dark-haired reporter that all boiled down to the same sentiment: that she would leave your ass behind at the first opportunity.

 _This_ did not sound like _that_.

"Alright... How about this." Thug One produced the handcuff keys from his pocket and jingled them. "We'll give the rookie a fighting chance." he offered. "We'll uncuff his hands. As part of your last request."

With a smirk, like he knew something they didn't, the thug unlocked Clark's handcuffs. Lois nudged him again just before he could lower his hands and gestured with her eyes down to the water. Clark had barely a second to decipher what she was implying before the thugs lunged at them, knocking them over the rim of the boat and into the lake. They sank into the water with a loud splash and barely a sound from either of them. The thugs leaned over the side, trying to discern any movement below the surface.

"Think they'll swim out?" Thug Two wondered.

"They won't make it." Thug One said confidently. "Water temp's gotta be thirty-four degrees. Ain't nobody gonna try and save someone else when it's that cold. He'll just leave her ass behind."

Thug Two nodded, looking vaguely thoughtful for a second. Then he shrugged and said: "Hey, I'm dying for some hot wings. You game for that?"

"Nah, pulled pork." Thug One shook his head as he sat back down behind the wheel. "This new barbeque place opened up down the street from my place. I can smell it every evening; it's torture. We gotta try 'em. And I heard some pretty good stuff about the microbrew they have."

"Yeah, sounds good."

* * *

-0-


	6. The Story Comes First

HOPE Y'ALL BEEN WATCHING SUPERGIRL CUZ GODDAMN IT'S MY FAVORITE MARTIAN!

* * *

Chapter Six: The Story Comes First

As human as Clark wasn't, it was still a shock to hit the icy water and it startled the breath out of him. Weighed down by a heavy coat and his own mass, he sunk well below the surface very quickly before his body straightened out, fighting the drag of his clothes and his lack of buoyancy. He'd always had to fight to stay afloat. He had been the heaviest of all his friends. He had mused once that he had a greater bone or muscle density than most humans, leading him to think that his alien species had evolved on a planet with higher gravity than Earth.

Wait, why was he coming back to that now?

 _Dammit! Focus!_

His chest was straining already. He hadn't gotten a good breath of air before sinking and some of it had escaped in bubble-form. His first instinct was to pop his head back above the water and get a lungful of fresh air, to replace what had been startled out of his lungs.

But then he remembered Lois. Her hands were still bound and she had left a lot more skin exposed than he had. If numbness was already biting into his fingertips, then it must have been worse for her. At this temperature, it wouldn't take long for hypothermia to set in.

The lake water wasn't clear, but his eyes were much more sensitive to light and it was easy for him to pick out the other reporter's form, falling slowly through the water. Lois had sunk below him, but she was trying to swim, trying to coordinate her legs in a mermaid kick and flail her bound arms in an approximation of a swimming stroke. But it was a shuddery, jerky movement that wasn't getting her anywhere.

Through the water, he could hear her heartbeat pounding frantically and the strained groans she tried to hold her breath, though there wasn't much air in her lungs to begin with. Strange, it almost looked like she was glowing faintly, tendrils of red limming her torso.

Clark wondered if he was seeing the body heat leaving her.

 _I need to get her out of the water. It's too cold and she's bleeding body heat like a punctured artery._

Clark dove towards her with a burst of speed and power that would have matched a dolphin and seized the dark-haired woman around her chest, under her arms, and broke the chain of the cuffs with just two fingers. Lois had sunk below him more than ten feet, but fifteen feet to the surface was nothing to Clark. He oriented himself and pushed back towards the surface. He sacrified discretion for speed. With any luck, Lois would be just disoriented enough that she would just believe that he was a strong swimmer.

And he was, kind of.

They both broke the surface with great, heaving gasps, like iron bands had been lifted from their chests. The air was stinging to every exposed surface and Clark felt it prickle all the way down to the bottom of his lungs. Lois was shivering obviously now, spitting water out of her mouth. Her hair was completely plastered to her face, shining black in the pale October sunlight. She jerked spamodically under his arm, her arms and legs curling inwards in an instinctive effort to preserve body heat.

"Ms. Lane?" Clark inquired, pulling her a little closer. His body temperature was higher and he wasn't losing heat as fast. He looked around, wondering if it would be okay to try and fly back to dry land. He could always tell her that she had passed out.

"Hey... Smallville..." Lois gasped, spitting her hair out of her mouth too. Her teeth were chattering and he almost didn't hear the chug-chug-chug of an old engine propelling a boat towards them (the speedboat and its thugs were long since gone).

"Are you alright, Ms. Lane? Or is that an obvious answer?" Clark amended quickly.

"O-Obvious." Lois nodded, her head drooping back onto his shoulder. "Y-You asked why I... wasn't worried? Earlier?"

"About getting dumped in the lake, you mean?" Clark glanced over his other shoulder to see the position of the boat. It was definitely angling towards them and if he squinted, he could make out the grim-like but determined features of its captain. He started to swim, a little awkwardly, in the boat's direction. The sooner they got out of the water, the better.

"Yeah... Totally had a p-plan... Wasn't worried... 'Cause I knew ya wouldn't let me down..." Lois replied, grinning. If it wasn't for the fact she was soaked all the way down and shivering, turned so she could take advantage of his body heat, he could have believed it.

Clark wasn't sure whether to smile or frown. The reply did fall under Lois's assumed penchant towards looking out for number one, but at the same time, it showed a hint of selflessness and he could see a glimmer of what made her a good person. And maybe the sports columnist and everyone else weren't completely right about the sort of person she was.

"Didn't wanna g-get you killled- on your first d-day anyways..."

Clark smiled.

"At least I'll never forget it. It's been a hell of a first day already." he pointed out.

"Ain't o-over yet."

He looked for the boat again. It was coming up as fast as it could, but it was still too far out to reach at normal swimming speeds.

"Ms. Lane, I need you to do something for me."

Lois spat out her hair again. "S-Sure, since yer warm. What?"

"Keep talking. Stay awake." he requested. "There's a boat coming for us, but it's still a little ways out... I don't think it's Coast Guard though..."

"Bibbo." Lois said.

Clark blinked. "What?" He hoped that wasn't hypothermia setting in.

"Bibbo. I know 'im. Ev'ryone calls him 'Bibbo'." Lois elaborated. "Saw the r-rusty hunk earlier... He's good p-people."

"How did you meet him? Clark asked, in the interest of keeping her aware until they were out of the water and some place warmer.

"B-Boating lessons. Was fourteen an' my English was crap. Th' General didn't make me s-speak it enough."

"So you're bilingual?"

"German too."

The chugging boat slowed down and the displacing waves rolled over them. Clark had to tread the water a little more vigorously to keep the waves from swamping them. The boat's captain was hurrying out of the cabin. The boat was an outrigger fishing trawler christened _"Ace o' Clubs"_. It was patched with rust, it hull bearing dents and scratches, and frankly, the whole tub looked like it was about to sink with nary a bubble. But Clark knew, with a certainty that he couldn't place, that the trawler was more water-worthy than it seemed.

"I can speak a little bit of German. Just a little bit, though." Clark told her. He had picked up bits and pieces of a lot of languages on his tour of the Eurasian continent. Tourist phrases, mostly, and a little from just listening to the locals talk.

Lois rattled off something between her chattering teeth that sounded like German but also curiously French. Needless to say, it wasn't Standard German and was rather unintelligible.

"I don't think I can speak _that_ German."

"L-Local dialect, Smallv-ville."

A life-ring was Frisbee'd into the water just a yard away from Clark's position, tied to the boat with a rope. He lunged over to it and hooked his arm through the center hole, and then looked up at the face of Bibbo as the man began to tow them in. Squinty-eyed, mostly bald under his boat captain's cap, and with a physique that couldn't decide if it wanted to be muscular or overweight, he could have been the illegitimate child of Pop-eye the Sailor Man and the Sea Captain. But his face was open and friendly, prone to a lot of smiling, broad and toothy.

"'Ey, Miz Lane. Howdy do." Bibbo greeted them with surprising jovility, like he hadn't just pulled two sodden reporters out of the freezing waters of Lake Superior. He helped them over the side of the boat and Lois's legs all but crumpled under her.

"H-hey, been b-better." Lois replied, her teeth chattering.

Bibbo produced two scratchy wool blankets for them, unfurling one of them to throw over Lois's shoulders since she was visibly suffering worse for the cold. Clark accepted the other and wrapped himself in it gratefully.

"Youse lucky I saw ev'rything, Miz Lane." Bibbo admonished, like a concerned uncle. "That was stupid."

"An-Anything for the story. You know th-that." Lois reminded him. "Playing teacher to the n-new guy. H-Had to show him the ropes." she added. "This is Clark K-Kent, from Smallville."

"Pleased to meetcha, Mister Kent." Bibbo said, sticking out his free hand. It was stained with mustard, cold and clammy, but the handshake was friendly. "Howse you likin' the _Planet_?"

"It's a good atmosphere to work in." Clark hedged.

"H-He's lying. He was there like, half an hour." Lois translated, hitching the blanket up around her ears. "He don't know sh-shit about that mad-house."

"And we need to get you out of the cold." Clark told her, moving to stand so he could help her up. Blanket or no, they were both soaked to the bone and even the cold air would get to Clark in the long term, if he stayed wet.

"Hey, you look f-fine." Lois pointed out, giving a scowl.

"Nah, youse don't argue now. Youse need to get inside, Miz Lane." Bibbo agreed, helping Clark heft the reporter to her feet. Her legs wobbled and she grabbed reflexively at the more solid form of Clark. The blanket wasn't long enough to cover her legs all the way down, leaving them exposed to the wintery air and shivering much worse than the rest of her.

"Sorry about this." he said, then scooped her up into a bridal carry, blanket and all. Lois let out squawking noise, but otherwise didn't protest. He turned back to Bibbo. "Can you take us back to the docks, please? In Hob's Bay, not-"

Bibbo was already nodding. "Drop youse guys off on Hell's Gate,'kay Miz Lane?"

"Ooh, we can get c-coffee." Lois grinned. Hell's Gate Island was fine with her.

"Sure, we can get coffee." Clark agreed.

Bibbo started his return trip to the command deck and Clark carried the still-shivering woman carried into the cabin underneath (he ignored how he nearly tipped over on the lake swells).

It was clear at a glance that Bibbo lived out of this boat. The cabin wasn't much warmer (there was a space heater) and it smelled like a combination of grease, Vietnamese take-away, deodorant, and laundry that needed to hit the wash cycle, but it was out of the wind and there were no drafts. There was a hot plate and a rack of books to go with this year's calendar as the only decoration. Bibbo kept it tidy and somewhat Spartan.

"Ms. Lane, I'm putting you down." Clark told her.

"Y-You don't have to." Lois protested, but it was half-heartedly and she was already being lowered onto the neatly-made bunk. Clark sat down beside her and let her curl up against him.

"You're a f-furnance, Smallville." she told him, all but hugging him. "Must be awesome on w-winter nights."

"The dogs thought so." Clark agreed. Having been rebuilt following the Tornado of '84, the Kent farmhouse wasn't as subjected to nearly as many drafts as the old incarnation, but the current set of canines, Dusty, Hubble, and Krypto, had decided that the only acceptable place to spend the winter nights was snuggled up to Clark.

"Then you have smart dogs." Lois nodded. Her shiverings were starting to abate and the chattering teeth had stopped. "D-D you mind me clinging like this? You're just really, really warm."

Clark shook his head. "No, it's fine. I have a higher tolerance for cold." he said, shrugging. He leaned over to start poking buttons on the space heater until it came on with a hum and a draft of luke-warm air. "If I asked you not to do anything stupid like that again?..."

Lois snorted. "Not happening. That's how I get my stories. When they try to kill me, that means I'm on the right track." she said. "You saw Planet Colon back there, didn't you? He's involved. That must be the m-meth lab. We tell the police and I get the story up on the front page and the city gets their urban renewal underway."

"But that was a gamble, Ms. Lane. You had no idea if those guys would actually let me go." Clark pointed out. If these were the kinds of risks she took to get the story, then it was no wonder that people thought she was crazy. That people accused of her just looking out for number one. Of course she was looking out for number one. There was no one else doing it for her.

"I know..." Lois nodded. "But we're not dead, so it's a win-win-win all the way around." She grinned. "And that's why I know people like Bibbo Bibbowski."

She said the name so fast it sounded like dribble.

Clark blinked. "Blibble what?"

"Bibbo Bibbowski." Lois repeated, taking care to enunciate this time. "Good guy, little absent-minded, but he sees everything. Make friends, Smallville. Make friends with everyone." she advised.

Clark suddenly became _very aware_ of the fact that Lois had molded herself to his side in the name of getting warm again, her hands fisted tightly in the folds of the wool blanket. His arm was tucked around her shoulders, his hand pressing in just under her armpit. They were squeezed so close together there was hardly an inch of breathing room between them.

Clark felt a blush of heat crawl all over his face and down his neck. It wasn't like they were in a compromising position, but this was probably the closest he'd been to a woman, physically, in quite a few years. And Lois was- er... Firm. Firm in all the right ways. Taut. He could feel the muscles under his hand quivering with small shivers.

"Smallville?"

"Yes, Ms. Lane?"

"We just dodged a murder attempt by a drug cartel and we're going to live to tell about it. I think this is the part where we make out like a pair of horny teenagers."

"Say _what_?!"

For a gut-wrenching second, Clark could see it happening. Right there, right on Bibbo's tidy bunk in this oddly smelling room, Lois stripping off his shirt and pants and taking hold-

 _No! Bad thoughts!_

Clark tried to figure out where to move his hand that didn't seem quite so... suggestive.

"I said I think I could go for some coffee." Lois corrected, peeling away from his side a little. She smiled, practically telling him she was still aware of what she had said and didn't intend to take it back. "You should wear tighter shirts, Smallville. I don't know why you'd want to hide such broad chest under a shirt that's a size too large. It makes you look sloppy."

The blush of heat intensified.

"Ex-Excuse me, Ms. Lane?" Clark sputtered. Tighter shirts? Broad chest? She was saying _that_ when he had just imagined going down on her?!

"Let's get some coffee, after we get the cuffs off my wrists and I buy you some dry clothes. And a new tie." Lois offered. "How 'bout it, hayseed? You can be the gentleman and pay for the croissants."

* * *

The Bean Counter was Lois's favorite coffee shop in all of Metropolis. It was a little out of her immediate way on Hell's Gate Island and a touch pricey, but what you got for the dollar was more than worth it. The coffee was often imported, but it came hot, rich, and black and as bitter as you wanted it to be. No fancy flavorings or mysterious sizing choices. Just coffee.

Lois ordered her usual Colombian roast with a dash of cream to go with the buttery croissant and the chocolate chip cookie she doubtlessly deserved for having taken a dip in the freezing lake (and survived). Clark, meanwhile, practically worshipped a European blend that he had grown fond of whilst abroad, but he couldn't find it in any American stores. Now that he knew where to find it in Metropolis, he would probably become one of the Bean Counter's regular patrons.

The Bean Counter also had a quiet atmosphere that called to writers and artists or overwrought college students that needed a quiet place to study. A little haven in the hustle of the city. Music that sounded like a fusion between classical and jazz echoed softly out of the speakers. The patrons were the sort that kept to themselves, wrapped up in whatever projects they were working on.

Lois had spent quite a few evenings here squirreled away in the corner working on her Pulitzer-winning editorial. She wouldn't call the memories fond, since she had spent those evenings in a caffeine-hazed frenzy and it was a small miracle that her butt hadn't lost its shape.

"So, you can speak some German." Lois said conversationally, once they were tucked away in her preferred corner in the back of the shop.

Clark shrugged. "Not the dialect you speak." he said. He touched his new tie, the one Lois had bought for him just as she'd threatened to. It was silk and she'd told him that it matched his eyes. "Did you grow up in Germany?"

"Ramstein Air Base in Rhineland-Palatinate, just north of Baden-Wurttemberg. The dad is General Sam Lane of the United States Army." the dark-haired woman said. "I can speak Standard German too, but Pfalz was just more commonly used." She broke off a piece of croissant. "How about you? Any more languages in that bag of tricks?"

"Uh, a little bit of everything, I guess." Clark tried to tally up the number of languages he had learned phrases in, but stopped when the count went past six. "I did visit a lot of countries while I was overseas. It's just been a few years since I last had to speak anything other than English on a regular basis."

"What, you never used your vast knowledge of the Romance languages to impress girls?" Lois had known some guys who played that card. She would admit that with the right tone and volume, any language could sound sexy and the Romance languages were particularly lyrical.

"Um... No, I suppose the opportunity never came up." Clark said, tapping his mug of coffee in a nervous way.

It was hard for Lois not to smear a hand across her face in dismay. For a guy who was as well-traveled as Smallville here, he was surprisingly vanilla. No scandalous stories, European flings, foreign jail-time, or a brush with a famous celebrity. It was like he had gone across Europe in the most boring, straight-forward way possible, following all the maps and the guidebooks to the letter.

He didn't even use his knowledge for evil.

 _I had no idea that it was possible to backpack across an entire continent yet have no sense of adventure._ Lois thought, a groan rumbling at inaudible levels deep in her throat.

"Is there something wrong, Ms. Lane?" Clark asked. He had tilted his head and was frowning softly.

"No, not really. Just amazed you have so few interesting stories about yourself." Lois admitted. Well-traveled, broad-chested, good-looking, exactly her type and intelligent to boot, but as interesting as the conservative neighbor with the stamp collection, the inhumanly neat house, and the biker-gang paraphernalia that he wouldn't talk about.

What had she done to deserve this?

Clark smiled in an innocent, entirely unassuming way. Oh, there were some _very_ interesting stories about himself. Lois would foam at the mouth to hear them in full. But he had already vowed to keep his extraterrestrial origins a secret. Technically, that extra-governmental agency and its not terribly sane leader were still sniffing around for him and he didn't want to give them any idea of where he was now. Besides, he was human in all the ways that counted the most and that was the only thing people needed to know about him.

"So let's talk drug cartels." Lois said, changing the subject to the more pressing one. "What do you think we're dealing with, Smallville?"

"Why are you asking me?" Clark wondered.

"Funny thing about having a partner is that I'm supposed to ask for their opinion." Lois explained. She crossed her arms. "Besides, I want to hear your take on this. What's your small town opinion? Localized cartel or do you think they have financial backing from one of the big boys?"

"Like the mob? Are there even any mob families left in Metropolis?" Clark asked. He had done his reading up on the city he'd planned to call home for a long time. Metropolis didn't have nearly the problem with mob families as other cities. Not anymore, at least. The others had been driven out when decorated police captain Ron Harper had decided to pull an Untouchables. He and his band of men had scoured the streets clean on the mobs' taint. Most of the families had migrated to safer havens of Chicago, Detroit, and New York. Clark didn't think that any had stayed to risk destruction while Captain Harper had grown increasingly vigilant about removing the last of the organized crime from the city.

"Oh, you're so working from old information, Smallville." Lois said, grinning. "Strictly speaking, from the official political standpoint, there are no mafia families in Metropolis. Unofficially and off the record, we still have the Gazzo family, though most of them are in jail, according to my research, and they're mostly scrounging with the bottom-feeders. We also have Sofia Gigante, who could be a one-woman mob by herself."

"Who's she? Exactly?" Clark asked.

"She's seven feet tall, built like a brick shit-house, and she can split granite with her face. More importantly, she's a member of Metropolis's last great crime family." Lois explained. "If you want to hook the big fish, you cast your line for the Gigantes. But you do it _real_ careful-like."

"Is she dangerous?"

"Let me re-phrase that. Sofia _Falcone_ Gigante."

Clark blinked. The name 'Falcone' registered as familiar and he must have heard it before for it to be familiar, but he couldn't begin to imagine where he heard it or read it. Lois saw this and rolled her eyes at his lack of knowledge.

"She's the daughter of Gotham's mafia kingpin Carmine Falcone." she explained, gratified to see recognition on his face. "Glad you've heard of him."

"Only in passing. I didn't grow up in a big city." Clark reminded her. Much like the dealings of Lex Luthor, news on Gotham's mob families didn't always make it all the way out to Smallville and when they did, they were hardly important.

"I'm regretting every second that you didn't. You've got some catching up to do." Lois told him, picking up her coffee again. "The Gigantes have been pretty quiet lately, though word is that Grandpappy Vincent died during the spring at the ripe age of seventy-nine."

"Er, Ms. Lane?" Clark started. "Again, maybe we should mention something to the police?"

"We will. Just not right now." Lois assured him. "Right now, we are enjoying our coffee and recovering from our little swimming lesson. The cartel can think for a few hours that we're dead. Lull 'em into a false sense of security."

"But we **are** telling the police?" Clark pressed.

"Remember this, Smallville: The story comes first." Lois said in an instructional tone. "Unless it's life-threatening. Since we have reached that stage, we'll tell the police."

"And- when you don't reach that stage?"

The black-haired woman grinned. "I keep plugging away." she said, grinning even wider. "I'm more cautious than the horror stories would make you believe, farm boy. I know when to cut my losses and run."

"Perry seems to think otherwise." Clark pointed out.

"Perry has a very different definition of what 'too far' is." Lois explained, waving a hand dismissively. Then again, everyone's definition of "too far" was different. "I don't know why he worries so much. He knows I can take care of myself. You don't need to play bodyguard, Smallville. Just be useful and pupate into a beautiful butterfly."

Clark blinked. "Pupate?"

"Into a butterfly." Lois repeated, nodding.

She turned the dismissive wave into a fluttery motion that, more or less, signaled she was done with this tract of conversation. Clark let her shut it down, because she was reaching for her phone. It was more productive for Clark to give his delicious coffee the attention it deserved.

"I love Wayne Tech smartphones. They're so waterproof." Lois said fondly, watching the screen light up, just as bright and functional as ever. Her phone was under warranty so it could have been replaced if the water had damaged it, but Wayne Tech guaranteed their phones to such a degree that if a replacement was needed in the case of damage, you would also be refunded the full retail price.

Of course, you had to prove that it was an accident, but honestly, who destroyed a four hundred dollar phone on purpose?

"Perry?" Lois grinned manically as the editor picked up. "Don't worry, the rookie's still alive. Listen, I got a hell of a scoop today. You're going to hate it just as much as you'll love it."

* * *

There wasn't a formal quitting time at the _Daily Planet_ , as it operated twenty-four hours a day and through the holidays. People were in and out of the building at all hours. There were some employees whom Lois swore actually lived there because she had never actually seen them leave or arrive. But for the newsroom on the fifty-seventh floor, people generally started to pack it in just after six o'clock in the evening.

Clark had just logged off his computer when Perry White made his way over. Over the course of the day, he seemed to have aged a few years, but he smiled broadly when reached the new hire.

"Kent! Nice to see that Lois got you back here in one piece." the editor-in-chief said. He looked the younger man up and down. "That's not what you were wearing this earlier."

"Ah..." Clark ran his fingers over the new suit. It was a much more tailored fit, at Lois's insistence about looking presentable if he was representing her, and a handsome charcoal gray that did suit him rather well, he had to admit. "My other clothes got a bit- ah, waterlogged. It was an accident. Ms. Lane already offered to have them dry-cleaned."

"Well, she must tolerate you. She doesn't do anyone else's laundry." Perry commented, amazed. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Like I said, it was an accident." Clark repeated. In a manner of speaking, it had been. But it seemed better to downplay the severity of the incident. The editor-in-chief had atrocious stress levels, Lois had told him, and there was no need to make them worse.

Perry raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? How was it out there today?"

"It wasn't too bad, honestly. I learn best when I'm thrown in feet-first and that's Ms. Lane's style, so it worked out." Clark said, a little happily. It had felt like a productive first day. "She was very informative."

Perry canted an eyebrow curiously. That was a first. No one had called working with Lois 'informative'. Stressful, aggravating, dangerous, insanity in motion, but never 'informative', not when it ended with the purchasing of new clothes and coats. Most of the prospective partners gamely stuck it out through the first day, but always came up to him with the complaint that they didn't think they could keep up with her and didn't want to try.

It was too early for Perry to say that he had found the match made in heaven, but he was going to be optimistic for the short term.

"Hey, you heard the rookie, Chief! He's fine." Lois called out, as she passed en route to the flat-screen television mounted on a pillar near Clark's new desk.

"Don't call me 'Chief'." Perry ordered.

"Sure thing, Chief."

Lois reached up to turn up the volume. Always on and always tuned to the news, it was the local station and the _Daily Planet_ 's own Josh Coyle was sitting at the evening news-desk. Clark pushed out from the desk for a better look at the screen. Coyle was already into the next story about an anonymous tip had led to the discovery of a meth lab in a warehouse at Reeves Harbor. Among those caught red-handed had been Homer Colon, the last slumlord in the West River. Coyle had had years of experience at keeping his voice neutral, but when he mentioned that the city was actively seizing the property that Mr. Colon had once owned, there was a detectable note of glee.

"Finally." Perry clapped a hand on Clark's shoulder. "Good work, Kent."

"Hey, I helped too." Lois scowled.

Perry smiled beatifically at his ace reporter. "I know you did."

"Oh, I did a write-up on what I saw." Clark told the editor, gesturing to his computer screen. "It's just a summary. I wasn't sure if I'd seen enough for a full article..."

"You'll get the knack." Perry assured him, leaning over to peer at what was on the monitor. "Print it off and give it to Lois. Technically, it's still her story- Don't smirk like that, Lane, it gives me the willies."

Lois dropped the smirk that made her look like the Grinch.

Perry clapped his hand on Clark's shoulder again. "You did good today, Kent. I'll put you down for something substantial tomorrow. Probably the fall-out from this little shit-storm."

"Thanks, Mr. White."

The editor smiled. "I told you, it's 'Perry' to you." He patted the younger man's shoulder some more and then withdrew. "Go home and get some rest, Kent. It sounds like you had a busy day."

"I had a busy day too." Lois informed him, like she was fishing for some sympathy.

Perry just waved a hand and waded into the depths of the newsroom to check with the rest of his general assignment reporters. Lois made a grumpy noise and resigned herself to a long evening at her desk with an article for company, making a mental note to get some more coffee and actual food if she was expected to last the next hour.

"So," Clark turned towards her. "Apartments in Little Bohemia, huh?"

Lois smirked her Grinchy smirk. "Pelham too." she nodded. "I'll print you off the listings."

* * *

-0-


	7. What a Scoop

I will not be posting updates during Christmas and New Years, cuz the holidays, yo. Further on that, I'm going mostly offline to avoid as many Star Wars spoilers as possible.

So have a good holiday, hope you all did well on your exams, stay chill, and I'll see you in the new year!

* * *

Chapter Seven: What A Scoop

The week moved along and Clark began to settle in to life at the news-desk. His in-tray didn't pile high, Perry didn't shout at him very much, and his fellow reporters seemed to treat him with an odd sort of respect. The sort of respect that you gave an old predator who was too aged to be very dangerous anymore, but you still didn't want to piss it off, just in case.

They also didn't talk to him very much, but Clark had sort of anticipated that. He hadn't banked on making friends on the first day or in the first week. They were still feeling him out in their own way, trying to get the measure of this rookie who had been made to shadow Lois Lane for the week.

Clark didn't want to think that becoming Lois's shadow for the week had robbed him of his chance to make work-place friends, but he couldn't help notice that when people did talk to him (no matter the capacity), their eyes slipped sideways to mark Lois's location and presence. Like they were checking on the apex predator who was sated for now, but still highly territorial in the wrong moods. They censored themselves, seemed to take an extra second to reply like they were double-checking their words, and in general, they seemed to watch their step if she was in the room.

They didn't seemed to respect Lois so much as they feared her. And they seemed to act like she had a claim on Clark.

It was very odd behavior for grown adults.

There were people who didn't act like this, but they weren't exactly the type of people that Clark wanted to make friends with.

Outside of the still-unknown politics of the newsroom, Clark was also finding life in Metropolis to be to his liking. At least now that he had found an apartment, a four hundred dollar a month studio in the artsy and diversely ethnic neighborhood of Little Bohemia. The lease didn't open until Saturday, but at least there was an end to his stay in the flophouse- _-_ ahem, single occupancy hotel.

Outside of even that, Metropolis got its first dose of significant change.

For the very first time in its history, the West River was going to be vitalized and invigorated. Bulldozed and demolished first, but then rebuilt from the ground up with more than just a splash of spackle and a fresh coat of paint. Now that it was more of a reality than before, everyone was talking excitedly about it. The West River was to become a fashionable new area with shops and restaurants and classy apartments that would even be affordable for the lower class. The complete absence of a police presence would be one of the first things to be addressed. Police Commissioner Henderson had already announced the construction of a precinct and the hiring of another fifty police officers, just to start.

Various philanthropic agencies and individuals were putting forth money to relocate the residents of West River before demolition began. Other sponsors put forth their bank accounts to fund a building or repave a street, in the name of good PR. Never one to be the last to the party, Wayne Enterprises had sidled in to Luthor territory and offered up a hefty sum to bring some jobs to the area.

But the biggest contributor wasn't LexCorp (as one might have expected after Wayne Enterprises stuck their noses in). It was the home-grown Future World Industries and its very photogenic CEO, Deirdre Merlo.

"I hate this bitch." Lois grumbled, glaring half-heartedly at the screen of her tablet.

The news was playing back this morning's recording of GBS reporter Tracy Kallan was getting the scoop on Ms. Merlo's contribution to the urban renewal project. Tracy Kallan was their most photogenic news reporter, one of the "beautiful people" who could have made an excellent living doing photoshoots or acting, whether she had the talent or not. She'd had some work done, for sure. Deirdre Merlo was also similarly attractive, in a more exotic way compared to conventional American standards. Large, almond-shaped eyes, glossy black hair, and a darker somewhat golden skin tone that suggested an Indian veering towards Middle Eastern background. She looked like the very kind of person you would find on the red carpet or the catwalk in the latest winter fashion. Not behind the desk of a successful national company that dabbled in a little bit of everything.

"Why?"

The question did not come from Clark (as Lois would have preferred), but rather from their fellow reporter Joyce, an unmarried thirty-something who was still fishing around and tended to drop her panties at the first sight of someone young and attractive.

For some reason, the second she had brought her tablet out to watch the interview, Lois had drawn a crowd to Clark and herself in the _Daily Planet_ lounge/break room. Aside from Joyce (who had spent more time this week eyeballing up Clark than doing anything else), there was Steve Lombarde, the burly muscle-bound sports columnist who was fond of shirts that put his hairy, manly chest on display. He walked around like a bronze Adonis with a package too big to fit between his legs.

Beside him was Brad Hunter, who was the extreme sports columnist and often spoke loudly of going into amateur motor-cross while showing off the scars he'd gotten from his weekend warrior-ing on the waters of Lake Testosterone.

Put together, Lombarde and Brad were possibly the single most obnoxious entity in the microcosm of the _Daily Planet_. Neither had been successful in wooing Lois into a date, but their only strategy was to flex their muscles and push for the best. It took a lot more than just a bunch of bulging muscle fibers and off-brand cologne to woo the likes of Ms. Lois Lane.

"She looks fake." Lois said, in response to Joyce's inquiry. "Look at that smile. I just wanna punch her teeth down her throat."

Lombarde drew his attention away from the screen and smiled toothily, pulling his lips back far enough that you could see the gold crown capping one of his molars.

"Why Lois, that sounds like jealousy." he commented. He had a deep baritone voice that was, tragically, quite smoky and sensual, like dark chocolate for the ears. If only it could have belonged to a less obnoxious pig...

"It's not jealousy. It's just a generalized feeling of ill-will and queasiness that springs from no actual reason." Lois explained. Her scowl wasn't as strong and defined as it normally was.

"Well, if you're not jealous, I'm a flying pig." Lombarde said, snorting in a manly if slightly phlemgy way.

Lois smiled. "That's right, Lombarde, you **are** a flying pig. Emphasis on ' _pig_ '." she said.

"Whatever Lois, all I'm saying is that jealousy comes in many forms." Lombarde went on, while throwing an arm across Clark's shoulders like they were old buddies. "I guess any woman of your small- _-_ " He looked Lois up and down, looking for something specific, but had to settle for something general. "Small-ness - _-_ would be jealous of Ms. Merlo's pouty lips, her perfectly natural and amazing tits and really Kent, check out the skirt's skirt."

Even the news cameraman had given in to the male gaze and he really oughta have stayed professional. When the image shifted to Tracy Kallan and Deirdre Merlo walking down a hall, the shot was definitely being taken from butt level.

"Ain't that the tightest ass you ever seen?" Lombarde went on appreciatively, poking an always sweaty finger on the screen to pause the playback and admire the view. Tight, round, _lifted_ , what a view! "She must be _firm_ , if you know what I mean."

"Oh yeah..." Brad agreed, swapping knowing looks with his fellow sports writer.

"Lois is firm." Clark said unthinkingly, his mind wandering back to the Monday afternoon when he had been pulling Lois out of Lake Superior. It was Friday now, but his hands hadn't forgotten the feel of her body. The gentle swell of her curves, the taut and quivering muscles, the overwhelming fragility he'd felt in those few moments when his mind had caught up with his hands and realized just how _normal_ and breakable Lois was...

Then Clark caught a glimpse of Lois's reddening and appalled face, Joyce's dropping jaw, and realized just what Lombarde had actually meant by 'firm'.

 _Oh, that meant something else entirely..._

"Kent," Brad started, leaning over the back of the couch. "Did you and Lois- _-_ fandango?"

Clark felt himself redden. Lois turned absolutely crimson. Apparently taking this as confirmation, Lombarde let out a barking laugh and slapped Clark several times hard on the back, with a force that would have floored anyone else.

"Good job, Kent!" he roared. "'Bout time someone did the dirty dance with the Mad Dog! Good on you, kid! Collaring her like that takes guts!"

"You survived the night! I thought for sure she ate her partners' heads afterwards!" Brad agreed, nodding and looking mighty pleased with himself. "She didn't claw up your back too much?"

"Wh-What? I- _-_ We- _-_! Ah..." Clark's attempt at an explanation petered out before it even got started.

"How many rounds? Three or four?" Lombarde asked, fishing for details in a 'just between us guys' tone. "I always figured Lois would have a lot of stamina, with the shit she gets up to every day. I hope you had good recovery time, Kent. She must have worked you over hard. You look exhausted."

"I always figured that Lois would be a real demon in the sheets." Brad opined. "Y'know, scratching, biting. You got any teeth marks, Kent? Hickies or anything like that?"

"Guh..." Clark sputtered, his mind a useless churn of words. He met Lois's eyes from just two feet away and felt as helpless as she looked to get this situation back on track. He wasn't oblivious to Lois's expression, which was becoming increasingly angry and flustered, her cheeks turning red just as much as her hands were clenching like she was about to choke a bitch.

While Lombarde and Brad were busy patting Clark on the back and congratulating him for doing good, Joyce had an entirely different thought in her head.

"I can't believe you, Lois." she snapped, looking betrayed. "You know, it's hard enough for someone like me to find a good man without a wonton whore like you seducing every single available man- _-_ "

"Excuse me, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Lois demanded, turning slowly on the older woman like a turret. "You've slept your way through half the married men in the city- _-_ "

"Divorced." Joyce insisted.

"Almost divorced." Lois corrected. "I remember Ryan McKinnon from downstairs. The ink hadn't even started drying on the paperwork before you went down on him in a utility closet and you're calling **me** a wonton whore? I'm not the one preying on desperate men looking for a good rebound fuck- _-_ "

Joyce rolled her eyes. "Get over yourself, Lois. Stop projecting your massive insecurities onto me, just because I don't have to seduce innocent country boys who don't know any better- _-_ "

"Now that I think about it, the only guy Lois could get **is** the clueless country boy." Brad agreed, nodding.

"Yeah, she couldn't handle all _this_." Lombarde flexed all the way down to his waist (his muscles moved in a bizarre undulating motion) and he sent a dashing grin in Joyce's direction. "I like my women to have a little experience when it comes to utility closets."

"I'm sure **I** could handle _all that_." Joyce said, scanning the sports columnist's very muscular form, her eyes lingering on the noticeable bulge in Lombarde's tightly-fitted crotch. There was no doubting that Steve Lombarde was a very masculine specimen and his prowess wasn't entirely over-exaggerated, but he just flaunted it so much.

"Then go fuck each other already." Lois suggested sourly. "And leave me alone. I was having a nice lunch until you groakers showed up."

"Aw, don't be like that, foxy lady." Brad cooed, reaching to pat the younger reporter on the shoulders. "We're just being friendly, teasing. You know what that is, right?- _-_ "

"Don't even touch me!" Lois ordered, slapping at the oncoming hands.

"You need to smile more, Lois." Lombarde told her, leering. "Unbutton your blouse a little and- _-_ "

"That's enough." Clark said. He didn't raise his voice and he didn't sound particularly angry, but there was a commanding quality - _-_ the Alpha Male tone that made really just about anyone take notice.

Brad and Lombarde were unapologetic Alpha Males. They flirted with and bedded and sweet-talked anyone they pleased. They were muscular, masculine, dominating, with a presence that could fill a room. Top dogs, the pair of them. Nobody was more superior than them.

But when Clark put up his spine for all to see, Lombarde and Brad uncharacteristically quieted.

"Ms. Lane and I did not have sex." Clark said. He had completely straightened out his shoulders to their broadest width and his overall height had grown by an inch. "The two of you need to keep your hands to yourselves, especially when you're in my presence. Hassling a woman for her sexual relations is not the behavior of a gentleman, or even a good man."

Clark directed a piercing glare at the two sports columnists. He didn't feel the subdued navy blue of his eyes was nearly as effective as the usual eerie bright blue, but the two older and larger men seemed to cow a little.

"Nor is it the behavior of a good woman." he added, directing the glare at Joyce as well, to make sure she knew he was including her in this. "If you're not going to be civil and treat myself and Ms. Lane with due respect, then you're more than welcome to leave. In fact, I encourage it."

Joyce got the message that Clark Kent was not going to be joining her in a utility closet rendezvous where the dress code didn't require pants and pushed off the couch, vacating the area with a sneer and a disgusted noise. Other than straightening out his usual hunched posture, Lois saw no other physical change come over the country hayseed, but she did see Lombarde do something she had never seen before.

The burly, muscle-bound columnist cowered.

It wasn't much of a cower; Lombarde's backbone and tendons were permanently pulled upright in the most intimidating posture he could make. Cowering was not a posture his body was accustomed to. But all the same, he effected as much of a cower as he was capable of. Like the beta wolf following his lead, Brad too seemed to fold in on himself. Their expressions weren't exactly shame-faced (too proud for that sort of display), but it was clear that they had just been called out and they knew it.

Lois had a sudden thought that Clark had just done the verbal equivalent of peeing on the table leg to mark his territory. He had fanned his tail feathers, puffed out his chest, and was ready to lock horns with the next dissenter. He was asserting his dominance over them, telling him that he was the Superior Alpha Male here.

For a moment, Lois firmly believed that Lombarde would fire a return volley and perform a flamboyant dominance display, but maybe he sensed something Lois didn't. Maybe that big nose of his was good for something other than snorting cheap cologne. He raised his hands in surrender.

"Okay, whatever you say." he said.

His tone was lackadaisical, but his posture was far from it. He had been defeated by a six-foot-something farm boy wearing a bad tie. And he knew it.

Lois quietly reveled in glee at this while Lombarde vacated the couch, taking Brad with him. The stench of their combined cologne started to fade. Clark watched them leave and Lois watched him stare after them, his jaw still set in a firm manner. A shiver darted down her spine and it was not an unpleasant one.

 _Wow, Alpha Male Clark Kent is kind of tingly._

"Heave your balls up off the floor, Smallville, before someone trips over them." Lois suggested, wiping the sweaty fingerprint off her tablet screen. "Where were you hiding that spine all week? I was _this_ close to thinking you didn't have one."

Clark blinked owlishly through his glasses. "What?"

The transformation happened in an instant and the easily flustered hayseed with his hunched shoulders had returned, peering at his mentor with wide and weirdly innocent eyes. Lois smiled.

"Thank you, but I don't need you white-knighting for me. I can take care of myself." she said, closing out the Tracy Kallan interview. She'd had enough of Deirdre Merlo for the next month.

"Ah- _-_ You're welcome?..." Clark rubbed the back of his head. "I wasn't really white-knighting... I was defending myself as well as you. I didn't like what they were saying about- _-_ us."

"Then brace yourself, Smallville. By the end of the day, the rumor mill will have churned out the details of our sordid affair." Lois said briskly, opening another window on the tablet.

"Oh... great." Clark fell back into the flat cushions of the couch and rubbed a hand over his face. "I don't want to deal with workplace drama."

"No one escapes that. It's a fact of life." Lois told him plainly. She scooted closer to him and showed him the tablet. "Here, this might brighten your day. When I asked, Lieutenant Sawyer at the Met P.D. Special Crimes Unit sent me the names of everyone they arrested at the meth lab bust Monday. So I started digging."

"What did you find out on Mr. Colon?" Clark asked, sitting up a little.

"Oh no, I don't care about Mr. Colon. He was just the hindbrain. He wasn't important in the wider picture." Lois swiped her finger across the touch-screen, bringing up a mug-shot. "I care about this guy. He's the forebrain and I want to know who he was reporting to."

Clark frowned a little at the mug-shot. It featured a grown man about his age, just under six foot. Sandy brown hair, almost-hazel eyes, and a rather distinct slope to his jawline and nose that struck a familiar chord in the reporter's memory.

"Is that Kyle Faust?" he wondered.

"Who? You know him?" Lois asked eagerly.

"I might." Clark took the tablet from her for a closer look. "He looks like one of my old classmates, from Smallville High. Kyle Faust."

"One of the bad boys?" Lois questioned. Anyone peddling meth in their twenties probably hadn't been the squeakiest of squeaky clean teenagers.

"He was one of the bullies who made the smarter kids do his homework for him." Clark replied. "Then he turned out to be part of a doomsday cult living in Smallville who believed that some ancient old god was destined to destroy the world once they had freed him from his mortal flesh."

Lois raised her eyebrows.

Clark shrugged. "They thought it was me."

It had been the most interesting and the one of the most harrowing moments of his life so far. There had been nothing like finding out that a doomsday cult had set up shop in Smallville. And there had really been nothing like finding out that the cult thought he was the mortal incarnation of some Lovecraftian style ancient deity whose destiny was to set the earth aflame and save the chosen few to populate the new world that would be born from the ashes of the old. And it would be a long time before anything surpassed waking up to find that he had been tied to an altar.

"And you still didn't leave town?" Lois questioned.

"The cult disbanded around the time of the meteor shower. I guess they thought it was cataclysmic enough." Clark explained. More like, they had disbanded **because** of the meteor shower. That tended to happen when a six-foot chunk of space rock took out the ceiling on its way down.

"Tiny Town sounds like a horror movie." Lois commented, shrugging. She cleared her throat. "Anyways, are you sure about the identity of the forebrain?"

"Not one hundred percent." Clark admitted. "It has been six or seven years since I last saw Kyle, but it does look very much like him."

Even in his two years abroad around the world, he hadn't really seen anyone who had the same particular slope to the nose and chin that had been Kyle's most distinctive feature.

"Great." Lois took her tablet back. "We should run that down to the police. They don't have much to go off of. The forebrain is vigorously exercising his right to remain silent and anyways, Turpin the Terrible says we can sit in on the questioning, so they're expecting us down there anyways."

"Turpin the Terrible?" Clark repeated.

"Don't stare at his eyebrows or they'll eat you." Lois advised.

She was joking. Probably.

They collected their coats from upstairs and made their way back downstairs to the lobby, informing Marilyn at the front desk that they would be heading out if anyone needed to get a hold of them.

The building that housed the Metropolis Police Department and affiliated services wasn't an unreasonable walking distance from the _Daily Planet_ building. Not a walk you might feel inclined to make when the weather was awful, but Lois had a new coat. She had taken her swim in Lake Superior as a hint that she needed to invest in a longer, thicker winter coat. Her new coat draped to her knees, a black wool weave that had an interior down lining and a deep hood. She loved it.

"It's nice out." Clark commented, gamely ignoring the thicker snowfall. There hadn't been one day this week where it hadn't snowed enough to bury the city.

"Canada's throwing up on us."

"You have such a way with words, Ms. Lane."

"I do, thank you."

They set off down the sidewalk at a brisk pace. Clark walked a little behind Lois to provide some sort of windbreak for her, since it was coming cold off the water. The cold didn't affect him nearly as much. Despite her new coat, Lois was still wearing skirts that weren't long enough to provide ample coverage (long enough to be office-appropriate, but otherwise...). She did have a new scarf and a good pair of gloves to match, so she was being more sensible about the winter weather.

They made it to the end of the block before Lois spoke up again.

"Hey Smallville, you said that you were adopted, right?"

"Uh, yeah." Clark nodded. He didn't remember telling her, but he must have. It wasn't something he really advertised to everyone he crossed paths with.

"Just out of curiosity, humor me - _-_ have you ever thought about looking for your birth parents?" Lois wondered.

"I've _thought_ about it, but I've never made an effort to follow through." he admitted.

"Wht not?"

Clark shrugged. "They're my parents, Johnathan and Martha Kent. They're always going to be my parents, no matter where I came from."

"Sentiment is fine, but didn't you ever get curious?" Lois asked. "You can't tell me you never stared at your ceiling at three in the morning wondering how you would have grown up if you hadn't been adopted."

No, Clark couldn't have or else he'd be a big fat liar. He was absolutely curious about his birth parents, those two people who had sent him here from beyond the stars. He wanted to know who they were, and why they had jettisoned him to Earth. He was an _alien_. He had been born on a different planet, into a different culture. He was from another world that was just as foreign and alien as the far side of Pluto.

Of course he wanted to know about his birth parents.

But how was he supposed to find out?

"Yes, I've gotten curious." he said to Lois. "I just- I don't know if I'd be able to find them, if I started looking. I mentioned that tornado in Smallville when I was a year old, remember? I was actually found in the fields nearby after the storm. No one ever came looking for me. Everyone figured I had been orphaned by the storm."

A look of surprise shot all over Lois's face. Clark wondered what her face would have looked like if he'd told her the actual truth. He had been found in the field, yes, but his parents tended to leave the part about the spaceship out of the re-telling. They didn't mention the gabbling language he'd been speaking; baby babble to the uninformed, but anyone with a PhD in linguistics would have found it shockingly structured. Given the ferocity of the tornado that had leveled Smallville, no one had seen any reason to question the story the Kents had given. A storm orphan was more than plausible, under the circumstances.

"But you might have living relatives." Lois insisted.

 _Not on this planet._

Clark just shrugged, glancing down the street to see if it was clear. There was a fuel tank truck stalled on the curb on the other side, flashing its yellow hazard lights.

It was entirely possible that his birth parents had indeed left him a means of getting all his questions answered. They would have had the foresight to do as much, knowing that he _would_ have a lot of questions. And he had a _lot_ of questions.

And if there was something like that, it would definitely be on the ship...

Clark's eyes drifted to the stalled fuel truck, its long, gleaming tank gathering a patchy layer of snow while the driver argued with the tow-truck man. He heard the screech of a car and the wail of police sirens from just down the street, heading up this way fast. He saw a small child, no more than four years old, lose her tiny grip on a bouncy rubber ball that rolled away into the street. The child tugged her hand out of her mother's and went to retrieve the ball with no mind for the fact it was in the middle of the street, just past the stalled truck.

Clark saw the get-away car and its entourage of police squad cars roar through the intersection.

He saw the patch of ice on the road and the get-away car's path of travel and just _knew_ what was going to happen next.

The get-away car hit the ice patch and spun out.

He saw this all in a span of three seconds and knew that he couldn't just stand there to watch helplessly. Because he could do something.

And then he _moved_.

"Well, if you want to start looking for them, this is a good job to have because _connections_ , Smallville." Lois started encouragingly, because she was about three seconds behind and lacking the perception of the world that Clark had.

 _Then_ she saw the get-away car spin out, its brakes squealing as the driver struggled to stop in time, but the forward momentum was too out of control. And she saw Clark, closing in on the tiny child and her bouncy ball.

The next thing Lois was totally sure of was the fuel truck going up in a gunshot explosion of flames.

" _Clark_!"

For a split second, winter was banished as the fireball roared up into the air and intense heat rolled across the street, so much that Lois thought her face would scald the second the cold air rushed back in. Then the flames receded back towards the truck.

The damage wasn't extensive. It had been a brief, if violent explosion, but the initial burst had died out quickly. There was still a lot of shrieking, however, that echoed in Lois's ringing ears alongside the police sirens. She saw someone go streaking by with their clothes on fire. The flaming bystander was tackled by another brave bystander and shoved into the slushy snow in the street gutter.

The truck driver and the tow man were singed, but otherwise unharmed. The driver of the get-away car had doubtlessly not lived through that, judging from the blackened and scorched frame of the vehicle. There was the shocked mother, staring at the place that her daughter had been occupying just seconds ago.

Where _Clark_ had been just seconds ago.

"Clark?" Lois called out, surprised to find that her voice was trembling. No, that was just the adrenaline. Not the fear that the stupid rookie might have been charbroiled! Not her clueless hayseed of a partner!

 _I still need him!_

"Clark!"

Lois put anger into her voice this time, hoping a little display of temper would draw him out. Prove that he hadn't been neatly incinerated. Her own voice seemed to cut sharp in her throat and there was a suspicious kind of lump...

She felt it blossoming in her chest, a panicky sort of fear that sprang from some place raw and primal and visceral. The kind that put tears in your eyes, whether you wanted them or not. For a second, Lois felt irrational. Just irrational. She had known Clark exactly four days. She didn't really _like_ him all that much. He was untested, a rookie, so green around the edges he could have sent out shoots like a tree. They weren't friends. How could she be friends with a Kansas hayseed who politely called her "Ms. Lane" and held the door open for her?...

But people said that when you went through a dangerous situation with a person, you couldn't help **but** be friends with them. Because that hazardous, stressful occurrence was the thing that showed you what that person was made of. It bypassed all that introductory stuff and opened them up like the answer section of a textbook and in thirty seconds, you knew that person better than you could have imagined for having met them three hours earlier.

Clark had saved Lois's life when he could have saved only himself.

She knew him very well, whether she wanted to or not.

She might even consider calling him a friend.

 _I still need him..._

Across the street, the mother started to make horrible, pitiful noises while the people around her tried to offer some meager comfort. Then a loud wailing sob pierced through the noise of the sirens and the ringing in Lois's ears. She lurched around, wobbling on her two-inch heels and- _-_

 _Clark!_

There he was, all six-plus feet of him clutching the little girl who was busy screaming lustily in fright. His coat was smoking, his hair was standing straight up, there were embers sparking along his shoulders, and he looked absurdly proud of himself, that broad smile and gleaming eyes, never mind the smear of soot on his cheek or the red tint of his skin.

There should have been theme music, as he strode and the hem of his long coat spread out around him like a cape. A brass band trumpeting out something like the chorale piece from "Jupiter". That long, serene yet triumphant fanfare that oozed hope for a brighter tomorrow.

All of a sudden, Lois _felt_ absurdly proud of him.

The girl's mother made a hysterical noise and bolted across the street to retrieve her daughter. Clark released the little girl back to her sobbing mother's grateful arms through a patter of applause, then turned and made his way back over to Lois.

His polyester tie was singed, his coat trailing smoke, and his hair must have caught fire at the tips, though it looked attractively wind-blown. Otherwise, he looked no worse for wear and wore a rather jaunty smile.

"Sorry about that, Ms. Lane. What were you saying?" he asked, as though he had done nothing more than stop to tie his shoelaces.

Lois stared him in a moment of disbelief and shock before she found her voice.

"I am not proud of you!" she told him sternly. "That was stupid and you smell like a bonfire!"

"But the little girl's safe?" Clark shrugged. He looked over his shoulder at the wreck. "I wish I could say the same for the car driver..." he added sadly. But there would have been no way to rescue both of them and call it a fluke. In the end, his attention had been focused on that tiny life; getting that girl out alive.

Lois patted his smoking coat sleeve. "Try not to think on it." she advised. She considered offering him some further advice, about looking at it as though the driver had already dug his grave, thrown his life away, and other sentiments like that, but looking at Clark's downcast face told her that such commentary would not be appreciated at this time.

If it had been anyone else, Lois would have gone on with that commentary no matter how callous it seemed, because she had learned long ago not to get hung up on what other people thought about her. If they wanted to dislike her, who was she to stop them?

But for once, she didn't want someone thinking badly of her. She didn't want _Clark_ thinking badly of her.

"C'mon, the police are going to want a statement from us." she said, taking his arm to lead him to the nearest squad car. "And then we can write the story."

Clark blinked and then shook his head. "Is that all you think about?"

"When the news happens in front of you, don't hesitate. It's how we make our living, Smallville." Lois reminded him. "Besides, it'll be a nice feel-good story for the public. Not a front-pager, exactly, but it's a good scoop. Just focus on the brave thing you did. I don't know too many people who'd rush into a fireball like that. It'll be a good human interest story."

Clark still wished that he could have saved the car driver as well, but he wasn't a super-human. He wasn't even human, but that was only a biological thing. He was still human down to the bottom of his alien heart. And a human couldn't save everyone.

The car driver was dead, true, but Clark had also prevented a larger tragedy. One could argue that the driver had signed his death certificate the instant he decided to do whatever it was that put the cops on his tail. That didn't mean he hadn't deserved to be saved, that his death wasn't tragic, but he had been fully aware of the consequences. Not like the little girl who had just gone to get her ball.

 _I could have saved the driver too. I have these powers and I could have used them to save the driver._ Clark thought, glancing at the scorched, wrecked car when they passed it at a distance. He could just see the charred form in the front seat.

 _But I don't think I could have done it as Clark Kent..._

* * *

There was a funny thing about social media. Back in 2003, no one had cared about it. Social media and networking sites like AnneX and Tripod and Shuttr had existed, all design to share with and connect to users around the world. But no one had been terribly interested. Try though they did, the marketing teams had failed to uncover any really good reason for the lack of interest.

And then, the very next year, the entertainment branch of WayneTech had unveiled their first generation Pearl smartphone and the Diamond tablet computer (slate and hybrid options), both featuring the Portal Mobile OS and connecting to the internet through the Mosaic Bubble Wireless Network. Then, practically overnight, it became very very easy to access the internet from just about _anywhere_.

And social media just exploded in response. Shuttr, AnneX, and Tripod tripled their user capacity within the first six months. Other sites like Chirp, Jumblr, and Anthill, Pixart, Ping, and Corkboard were created and they became very popular very quickly. The usual dating sites came into use, the two most popular these days being Hitch and Verge. Ease of access seemed to be the driving force and the marketing teams quickly urged their companies to make the user interfaces much less complicated and much more welcoming.

Suddenly, the world was connected in a way it had never been before.

And all because WayneTech had created a phone that could access the internet wherever it was.

By the time the Pearl G2 had been released in mid-2006, other companies had gotten in on the smartphone action. Queen Consolidated had put out the Crown G1 and the accompanying Q-pad tablet on the Nebula Mobile OS. LexCorp had followed with their Odyssey G1, marketing it as the smartphone that would make the Pearl obsolete. But the Pearl was idiot-proof, user-friendly, and fairly inexpensive, whereas the Odyssey still needed tweaking in those departments. Nonetheless, it was still popular for those who could afford it and had the patience to figure it out.

Needless to say, by the time Clark Kent saved a small child from a fiery death, nine out of every ten people had a smartphone and were very proficient at not just capturing the scene, but posting it somewhere online five minutes later. They Chirped about it. They blogged about it. GIFs and screen-captures were on Jumblr and Shuttr within the hour. By the end of the day, half the world had seen it.

The majority opinion was that Clark had just gotten very lucky to exit the fireball with just some singed clothes. A miracle, an act of God. The blessings of the patron saint who looked out for inherently good people like Clark Kent.

There was also the paranoid minority who blogged frantically about aliens, immortals, chosen ones, lizard men, and whatever else that people sincerely believed was out there in the world.

And then it crossed the desks of men like Dr. Anthony Sullivan. Despite the ominous build-up, he was not a bad guy. He worked as a mechanical engineer for S.T.A.R. Labs and in his free-time, he was an amateur star-mapper. Only "amateur" because he didn't get paid for his contributions to the world of stellar cartography.

He was considered intelligent and capable and ahead of his time, but his coworkers commented that he was further 'round the twist than most scientists. Indeed, he was slowly laying claim to the title "mad scientist" for how radical his ideas were compared to the current status of today's technology. For example, when Mars was in perihelion and at its closest to Earth, travel time was anywhere between four and nine months. One of Dr. Sullivan's purported advancements in technology could reduce that time to just two months, regardless of where Mars was in its orbit.

But he had no way of proving it was possible because the current level of technology just couldn't manage that so soon. So they called him mad and let him tinker away with things because most of the time, he came up with improvements that were useful and possible.

All the while, Dr. Sullivan let himself quietly stew at his work-bench and hoped that the universe would find it suitable to give him a break.

He got that break. When the video of Clark Kent diving into a fireball to save a little girl popped up on his newsfeed and Dr. Sullivan suddenly felt very validated. To him, it finally meant that he had not lived the last two decades in vain. It meant there was still some hope that things could turn out all right in the end.

Dr. Sullivan paused the playback and touched the screen when it had caught Clark's full image. Right there - there was the hope for the future he had been waiting for. At last.

* * *

-0-


	8. Seeing the Best

Way later than intended, but life does its thing.

This has been a bad week for 69 year old British icons.

* * *

Chapter Eight: Seeing the Best

"Why does burning cotton always seem to smell like marshmallows?" Lois wondered, pushing open the door to the downtown police precinct. "Did you ever notice? Light a towel on fire and the whole room starts to smell like marshmallows."

"I've noticed it more with paper towels." Clark commented, shaking the crusted snow from his shoes. "Not that I go around lighting paper towels on fire for fun."

"Yeah, something like that gets you in trouble." Lois agreed. She frowned. "Crap, now I want marshmallows. Let's go get hot chocolate after this."

"If it's all the same to you, I think I've had my fill of heat for the day." Clark said, holding up a hand apologetically.

Lois shrugged. "Yeah, don't blame ya, Smallville."

He hadn't been greatly burnt in the fireball - _-_ certainly his skin had suffered no damage, though his hair was going to need a trim to get rid of the crispy edges and his clothes were probably no longer totally fit for public unless he could get rid of the scorch marks - _-_ but _wow_ the heat had been incredible! He could have sworn the flesh was going to melt off his bones!

But it looked like he was immune to that too.

There had to be a limit to how much he was invulnerable against. He couldn't be burnt or impaled. Temperature extremes weren't a problem unless he was unconscious. Drowning was possible, but he could swim and his lung capacity was huge, so that would take some doing. In a similar capacity, he could probably choke to death as well; he was still an oxygen-breathing mammal. But like drowning, that was going to take a lot of patience on the part of the choker's, since he could hold his breath for up to twenty minutes.

Not that Clark was going to around testing exactly what his limits were. He didn't want to do something crazy only to find out at the worst possible second that the crazy thing was going to be what killed him.

He wasn't immortal. Just incredibly durable.

The downtown police precinct was the busiest in the city, as it covered not just Downtown, but the Central Business District, and it answered the lion's share of the calls coming out of the Suicide Slums. Phones rang, policemen chattered and passed around sheafs of paper, people were questioned. The place was always in a perpetual state of motion, or at least Lois always managed to show up whenever it was at its busiest.

"Miss Lane!"

A gruff, kind of gravely voice rang out over the general din and a blue-suited detective came forward to greet them. He was middle-aged, but his hair was an odd shade of brown that almost looked gray and his face was already grizzled with stress lines. His dark eyes were intense on their own, but his eyebrows...

 _Holy-_ - _! No wonder she said don't stare. Dr. Livingston could make a career out of exploring just one those!_

Dan Turpin's eyebrows were black and wiry and wild. They looked exactly like they had been subjected to an enormous jolt of electricity and were permanently stuck standing on end. They were sharp and severe and very thick, making his gaze even more intense than it oughta have been. And if just a casual greeting stare made Clark feel uneasy, then he wasn't sure he wanted to know what a proper glare looked like.

"Detective Turpin." Lois shook his hand. "Didn't know you were greeting us at the door."

"You're late." Turpin commented, looking them up and down. There was no way he missed Clark's slightly singed appearance. "How close were you to the explosion downtown?"

"Oh, we were practically right in the middle of it." Clark replied, shrugging.

"Yeah, and if I don't miss my guess, Clark here is going to be internet-famous by the end of the day." Lois patted his chest, grinning. "Anyways, Clark Kent meet Detective Dan Turpin."

"Metropolis Special Crimes Unit." Turpin said, swapping a handshake with the other reporter. "I'm also Terrible Turpin, Turpin the Terrible, or Terrible Turtle, depending on who you talk to. Turpin, terrapin. Snot-nosed rookies thinking they're clever."

"I suppose it was clever the first time around." Clark commented.

"Makes you wonder why they can't think anything new." The detective shook his head in obvious disappointment. What had happened to the age of creative-minded police officers?

"I hope you didn't start the interrogation without us." Lois said.

"Seemed impolite." Turpin shrugged.

"Good. We have some information you might want to hear." Lois tapped Clark, handing the conversation over to him.

"The man you arrested on Monday, the one in charge of the warehouse in Reeve's Harbor," the other reporter started. "His name might be Kyle Faust."

Turpin's wild caterpillar eyebrows crawled a little ways up his forehead. "How do you know that, Mr. Kent?"

"I have a good memory. I usually don't forget a face; not one I went to school with. Kyle made his mark." Clark admitted.

Kyle Faust had been a bully, but not the physical sort. He wasn't the guy who got his hands dirty. He'd had his groupies for that. Kyle had been raised as a leader and leaders weren't supposed to get their hands dirty. He hadn't actually tried to push Clark around; being a second-stringer on the football team had given Clark some protection against upstarts who thought they were hot stuff. Kyle was just universally unpleasant, Smallville High still wasn't a large school, and Clark had crossed paths with him all too often.

"Well," Turpin shifted the file folder under his arm. "I could get in trouble for this if something happens, but how about you got into the interrogation room with him and see how he reacts."

"It seems like a bad idea." Clark opined, a little uneasily. He was pretty much invincible- _-_ bullet-proof he dare say, but Kyle was the guy who spat degrading insults at him from across the classroom and started rumors, and there was no easy way to forget that.

"It's worth a shot." Lois shrugged. She nudged her temporary partner. "You might even get him talking."

"I won't make you, but we still need to make a positive I.D. and right now, we've got nothing to go off of." the detective admitted. After a week of silence from the little shtik drek, even Lieutenant Sawyer was open to suggestions. "Yours is the first potentially useful information we've heard all week. We're not even getting matches in the system." he added, just to make sure the greenhorn reporter understood that they were pretty much out of options.

"Kyle was raised in a doomsday cult. I think they were against things like driver's licenses and electricity." Clark explained. He hadn't known too much about the Burning Earth Society until they had him tied to an altar, but overhearing Kyle's commentary on his home-life had been too easy for a guy with super-hearing.

Lois clapped her hands. "Well, this is a cheerful and enlightening conversation." she said dryly. "Let's go see the forebrain, shall we?" she suggested.

Turpin nodded assent. "This way."

The interrogation rooms were located in the basement of the building and the ceilings were awfully low, in order to better facilitate the feeling of being cut-off from the world. Humankind had not evolved to live underground. Not comfortably, at least. Being told they were underground gave anyone a small psychological twitch of fear. They didn't have to be claustrophobic, but they could be made to feel that they were.

Clark found himself ducking a little when they stepped off the basement stairs into the low hallway. He still had plenty of clearance above his head, but the fact was he would touch his palm flat to the ceiling. He was the tallest of the trio, a full six-foot-three. Lois was five-foot seven in her bare feet and Turpin was only two inches taller than that.

The detective took them to a dark anteroom where one wall was partly glass. Sitting with his hands cuffed to the table was the meth operation's forebrain. Early twenties with his hair shaved down to a buzz-cut. His jawline sloped inwards so hard it was like his chin came to a singular point so sharp it could probably slice the fabric of reality into ribbons. His nose experienced the same severe slope that made it appear it was caving in. Just seeing it instantly brought back that same old thoughts: How on earth did Kyle Faust ever breathe through his nose? Why on earth did it look like that? Had he gotten it broken before? Did his parents not believe in hospital care?

"Look familiar?" Turpin prompted.

Clark nodded. "Yeah, he does." It was amazing what seeing a person in real life did for the memory. "You said I could talk to him?"

"Don't ask him any questions." Turpin advised. "If he confesses anything to you, legally, we can't use that in court as you're not an ordained officer of the law."

"So I just make sure he's who I think he is."

"That's right."

Detective Turpin moved over to the door located beside the window and opened it. Clark entered the interrogation room. It was incredibly white all over and the florescent lights hummed in a way that surely got annoying after an extended period. On this side, the window was a one-way mirror.

Kyle didn't look up at his entry, apparently used to people coming in and out of the room, and he could no longer feign interest. He hunched at the table, his fingers tapping out a rhythm on the table-top. There was an empty bottle of water and a napkin with a scattering of crumbs on it.

Clark pulled out the other chair and sat down.

"Hello, Kyle." he said pleasantly.

Kyle Faust jolted upright, the handcuffs rattling. He had kept very silent the last week; no one knew his name. He had made sure of that.

"How do you know my name?" he demanded, looking the newcomer up and down.

His back was to the mirror, so Clark tipped his glasses down. He had not worn them during high school. Faust was more familiar with the bright blue than the subdued navy blue. It was all the prompting Faust needed to gasp and recoil in fear.

"Holy shit, Clark Kent?" he whispered.

"I moved to Metropolis recently." Clark said, tapping his glasses back up his nose.

"Thought you looked familiar." Faust's eyes narrowed. "I see you survived the lake."

"You should know that I can swim." Clark pointed out. He laced his fingers together. "I'd ask how you've been since high school, but I think I know the answer to that. I was disappointed to recognize you. Smuggling drugs and using innocent people as mules? What would your parents think? What would your _mother_ think?"

"Don't bring my mother into this!" Faust snapped, snarling. He was a dyed-in-wool Mama's Boy, the kind who would happily sit in the pink living room and watch soap operas with tea and cake. Because he liked the soap operas and that was bonding time.

"I'm serious. Did you ever think about the impact your actions would have on your family?" Clark wondered. "Your mother survived the meteor shower, you know. Her left leg is paralyzed from mid-thigh down, but she only served three years. Once she got out, she opened a little bakery back in Smallville; turned it all around for herself. Her cakes are wonderful. And you know, she's been waiting for you to come home. The story is going to break whether you want it to or not. I think your mother is going to end up hearing about it. What is she supposed to do when she finds out her baby boy did nothing but move up in the criminal underworld? Or is it 'down'?"

It was hard to say why Faust was turning pink in the face. He could have been angry that Clark was even talking about his mother or that pink tint was a precursor to a few tears. Either way, the words were having an effect.

"You always contributed to the bake sale, Kyle. Every year, you made macaroons and red velvet cupcakes so delicious I couldn't believe at first where they had come from. I never could admit that I liked them, and mostly because you were usually a horrible person to me. But you could do something amazing. You had some real talent, like your mother. Why are you letting it go to waste?"

On the other side of the glass, Lois and Turpin stared in equal parts shock and awe. Both of them were masters at reading body language and they could see that Faust was slowly crumbling over the admittedly brutal onslaught of Clark's words. The reporter hadn't even raised his voice. He wasn't swearing or insulting Faust or otherwise getting nasty. He was just giving a simple summation of the facts, laid out in a neat row with more than just a touch of guilt for flavor.

"Is he... laying the guilt-trip on purpose?" the detective wondered.

"No, I think he's serious. I think he's really disappointed." Lois realized.

"How is he doing that with a straight face?" Turpin asked. His eyebrows drew together in a single hairy line.

"Maybe it's his super-power." The reporter shrugged. She had no idea how Clark was saying all that stuff like he meant it. Probably because he really _did_ mean it and that... Well, that was just plain bizarre. Clark barely knew the guy and didn't seem terribly fond of him, yet here he was hard-core guilt-tripping Faust about his mother.

It was kind of amazing too.

Back in the interrogation room, Faust burst out laughing. It was several seconds before he stopped; going on just long enough to become grating.

"That's what I hated about you, Kent. You always tried to see the best in everyone even when it wasn't there." he said. "But you were always the worst of us. Mom might have been convinced you were the Fiery One, but I knew you had to die."

A cold shiver crawled down Clark's spine and for the smallest of seconds, he was back on the altar with his hands tied above his head, Faust's hooded face over him with a curved knife in his hands and that _look_...

"I know what you are. I know what you'll become." the once-cultist said, grinning. "The _true_ Elder showed me. He showed me everything about the future. There's so much destruction in your future and it's all going to happen at your hand. In just a few years too. I knew you had to die before you became any of that. I was so pleased when Mom said I could complete the sacrifice, as a part of my final initiation. It's truly a shame I wasn't able to kill you when I was given the chance. But the Elder... He forgives. You don't."

"My capacity for forgiveness is far greater than yours." Clark stated quietly. He had forgiven Whitney Fordman and their rivalry had been long-standing.

"I know what I saw." Faust said, holding his head up high. "I saw the future and what you're going to do to it."

"I don't know what you saw." Clark said. Or if he even believed any of it. But he was a man who couldn't even be stabbed and he hadn't seen himself bleed in nearly twenty years. Was it too much to doubt that another person who had seen the future? "But you either saw it wrong, or it was just the wrong thing."

"Oh no, the visions were true. I know what I saw to be the correct future." Faust leaned forward, a mad glint in his eyes. "I know who you really are, Clark Kent. Or... What's that other name you have? Isn't it something like 'Ka- _-_ "

"I'm done here." Clark stood up abruptly and pushed the chair back in. There was nothing more to be said here. And he didn't want to be in a room alone with someone who would happily kill him because of mad visions of a future that might not even be real.

He knocked on the door and Turpin let him out.

The shiver in his spine had intensified in its frigidness and he found his fists slowly clenching, his fingernails making a valiant effort to dig into the skin of his palms. Faust was serious, absolutely serious about the whole killing sacrifice thing. If they weren't in a police station and one of them hadn't been arrested, there was every chance that Faust would come after him with a knife to finish what he had started six years ago.

A sudden surge of panic washed over him and he fought another shiver. Kyle Faust _knew_.

One way or another, Faust had come to know that Clark Kent wasn't exactly from Planet Earth. Most of the Burning Earth Society had sort of guessed it based on some old diary that was over fifty years old, but the writer had been sort of vague and there had been several ways to interpret it. By the time all the dust had settled, Clark had concluded that the Burning Earth had picked him because all the coincidences had added up to make the right picture.

But Faust just _knew_ and Clark couldn't explain how. He knew that like it was intuition.

"Smallville?" A hand touched his arm. "Clark."

He looked down and found Lois staring up at him in concern.

"You alright?" she asked.

"Yeah, he just- _-_ " Clark shook himself, chasing the shiver away. "Shook me up a little. The Burning Earth Society- _-_ That's what they called themselves... They weren't very sane, for the most part."

"I don't think any doomsday cult is full of very sane people." Lois said dryly. She squeezed his arm comfortingly. "Relax, he's in jail now and I'm ninety percent sure there's going to be a conviction."

She looked over at the detective for confirmation.

"We can nail him on an attempted murder charge, conspiracy to commit it, or an accessory, aiding abetting." Turpin assured them. "It'll be easier to pin him for having the pair of you tossed in Lake Superior than something that happened- _-_ When?"

"In 1999."

"Right, seven years ago. Confession or not. But he's still looking at twenty years of prison time, at least. And that's just for the murder charge, never mind the meth operation."

Clark nodded. "Thank you, Detective."

Turpin nodded back. "Stick around for the show." he added. Then he let himself into the interrogation room to begin the questioning properly, now that they had a name and an idea of what the perp's history was like.

"He was a charmer, that one." Lois said, crossing her arms as she peered back through the one-way mirror. "Tiny Town really knows how to grow some real winners. What was he a part of, a doomsday cult? What is it about small towns that bring out the crazy in people?"

Clark frowned. There was something wrong with that statement, but he wasn't sure what. Lois jerked, as she realized that she had said something wrong.

"But I'm sure your parents are just _darling_." she added, patting his chest and grinning.

Clark tried not to huff out a sigh. "If you want my opinion, I think the big city brings out the crazy in people more than any small town could." It might have just been his personal experience, but cities seemed to bring out the worst in people; like the tall buildings just drove them crazy after a fashion and they still tried to lash out in a socially acceptable manner.

"Clearly you don't read Stephen King." Lois said dryly.

"That's not relevant."

"Say that when spooky clowns start showing up in Smallville."

Clark rolled his eyes a little, allowing himself that much. Doomsday cults and meteor showers aside, Smallville was just too _normal_ to be the target of anything subtle like Stephen King's eldritch clowns and zombie pets, events that affected only a handful of people. Weirdness came to Smallville in big, overt displays that were visible for ten miles in every direction.

Lois could say anything she wanted, but there was nothing truly _subtle_ about Smallville.

Turpin settled himself on the other side of the table and set the files to one side. He eyed the little bastard up and down, pleased to find some vague signs of nervous-ness. He might have rattled Mr. Kent, but the rookie reporter had rattled him right back in return. Faust's heels bounced off the floor in a rapid-fire motion.

"All right, Mr. Faust. Can I call you 'Kyle'? I'd like to think we're getting along here." Turpin said conversationally. "Here's how the pieces fall. We have you on two separate charges of drug-trafficking and the attempted murders of Mr. Kent and Ms. Lane. If Mr. Kent testifies and the folks in Kansas are cooperative, we can pile on another attempted murder charge. The statute of limitations hasn't run out on your last attempt to kill Mr. Kent. Either way, you're looking at twenty to twenty-five years in Stryker's for the murder charge alone. If you're guilty of drug trafficking, it's Stryker's for life. Do you understand this?"

Faust snorted. "Gonna to tempt me by offering to scrape some time off? Please..."

"No, I'm not looking to lighten the sentence." Turpin replied, lacing his fingers together. Anyone who broke the law deserved to be whacked with the fullest measure of it. "I'm just wondering where you'd think you'd be safer."

The younger man frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, the operation you were helping run looked extensive and we pulled down the main artery of it in less than an afternoon. I _know_ there's still more we haven't found. But we have crippled a large part of it. We also know you're not the actual brains of the outfit. You were just the overseer." Turpin went on. His eyebrows drew together as he smiled coolly. "I can't imagine that your employer is going to be thrilled with you. Now think about what might happen if he gets his hands on you."

Faust did and beads of sweat started to form on his brow. His expression shifted from coolly unconcerned to troubled.

"Don't think you can threaten me and get away with it." he said, though there was a tremor in his voice.

"I'm not threatening you." Turpin said. "What I am doing is laying out the possibilities in front of you. Now, if for some unfathomable reason the courts find you not guilty as a result of a false testimony, you'll be out of police protection and running from your employer. I get the feeling that he won't be a happy man and neither will you."

Faust started to sweat more profusely.

On the other side of the glass, Lois made a noise of approval.

"I love watching this man work." she commented, smirking. "He's such a smooth operator. Do you want to know what his success rate is?"

"Not really." Clark admitted. But he had to admire the detective's collected calm; his heartbeat hadn't even fluttered. It helped that Faust was already nervous. A nervous man tended to give in faster.

"So here are your options." Turpin went on. "If you cooperate, spill your guts, we can keep you safe from the wrath of your employer. Stryker's has an extremely low incidence of someone getting shanked in their own cell. Doesn't mean that it _doesn't_ happen, but I'm eighty-three percent certain you'll be safer in a maximum security isolation cell than you will be on the streets. Stryker's is designed to keep people out just as much as it keeps people in. So what will it be?"

Faust visibly trembled.

Then he cracked like bad foundation.

"Gigante! It's Sofia Gigante!" he all but shouted, staring over Turpin's shoulder at the one-way mirror like he could see Clark standing on the other side. "She's been trying to strengthen her foot-hold! The meth operation was her idea! All of it was!"

"Sofia Gigante?" Lois repeated in slow shock.

Clark thought for a moment over the name. "She's the one who can split granite with her face, right?"

"That's the one..." Lois said, a smile growing on her face. It was somewhere between thoughtful and triumphant as she considered the various ways this would play out. Either way, she saw victory in this one. "Yes! Smallville! Do you know what this means?"

"No?" Clark answered.

"It means there's a chance we could take her down!" Lois declared, grabbing him by the elbows and giving him a hearty shake.

"What do you mean?" Clark asked. He strongly suspected what she meant, but he hoped he was just mis-hearing or she wasn't voicing her intentions clearly enough.

"That's an open confession, Smallville! That's gut-spilling! That's a finger!" Lois explained, gesticulating wildly at the mirror. She was practically jumping on the spot. "Sofia Gigante is guilty of something and she's _so guilty_ that one of her underlings would rather get locked in solitary for the rest of his life than sit with the general population! That he won't take visitors because that means getting shanked! That means we can bring down the last actual crime family in Metropolis! All before the year ends! Oh, it's Christmas in the city, Smallville!"

Clark held up a hand. "But you told me that if you're going to investigate the Gigantes, you have to be very careful about it."

Lois shrugged. "That goes without saying, but you have to understand what this is. _This_ is one of those stories that only come around once in a blue moon. I'd say... maybe once a year and you never get it twice. To be on the front lines when something this big is going down? That's gold, Kent. It's the golden ratio of press reporting. We have to take advantage of this."

"We?"

"Of course. It's a two-man job and I'm still officially your mentor until Monday."

"But- _-_ we?" Clark repeated, understandably alarmed by what Lois was suggesting. All the noise she had made about being cautious with the Gigantes heave-ho'd right out the window on the word of a man who had just enough to lose to make him desperate.

"Yes 'we'! I'm not going to start tugging threads like that without back-up!" Lois complained. She was completely mad about her methods but she knew where to draw the lines, thank you very much. And going in to the Gigantes without someone watching her back? She wasn't _that_ crazy.

"Listen to me, Smallville. If every minnow and bottom-feeder says that Gigante is their megalodon, then we need to start looking at the great whites in between. To properly take down a mob boss, we need to get rid of the load-bearing lieutenants first. Now in my experience, there are legitimate businesses through which the lieutenants launder the money."

Clark raised an eyebrow. "In your experience? Ms. Lane, you seem to have experience in a lot of things you shouldn't have experience in."

"I was a stupid teenager. It happens." Lois said, shrugging but not outright defending herself. Her rebellious teenage years had taken her rather further afield than most, but that knowledge was coming in handy now.

"And we're also not cops." Clark went on. "I don't think we should be snooping."

"The cops aren't going to touch Gigante with properly damning evidence, like her at the crime scene itself." Lois pointed to the interrogation. "That isn't going to be enough. Furthermore, there are some dirty cops in the system who could make the paperwork disappear. Not many, but they're in the right places. They can stonewall the good guys. That's why we're going to do all their leg-work for the good cops."

"I- _-_ don't know." Clark said hesitantly, crossing his arms. He wasn't worried about his safety; he couldn't even be hurt by conventional methods. He was worried about his secret, because he wasn't ready to tell it. Especially not to someone he had met just a week ago.

When it came to secrets and keeping them, Clark wasn't sure he could trust Lois. Half her career was built around digging into other people's dirty laundry. It was possible she had more moral integrity than he was currently giving her credit for, but he barely knew her at the moment.

"Seriously, what's the worst that could happen?" Lois asked, half-goading him. "So you lose a tie. You have to get another new suit. Your hair gets singed again." She slapped him on the arm in a friendly way. "Don't worry, Smallville. As long as you're with me, you got nothing to worry about. Now, do you want to be a hero for Metropolis or not?"

Clark stared at her wordlessly, gnawing over the choice. For his career, this would look _really good_ and he wanted job security for the long-term. Financial security really had a way of maintaining happiness. He didn't want to be worrying profusely about his bank account. Survive Lois Lane for one week and get a good story out of it, and his future at the _Daily Planet_ would no doubt be cemented.

On another hand, he couldn't deny that he had come to Metropolis with an itch to make a difference in any way he could. Bringing down the last crime family in the city would certainly do a service to the people, but he wasn't sure he was going to be prepared for the messy fall-out.

On the third hand, Lois was going to run into this whether he was there or not and it sounded like there was a good chance she could end up in the hospital, so he might as well put his bullet-proof chest to good use.

"All right... Where do we start?" Clark asked.

"That's the spirit!" Lois cheered, punching his arm enthusiastically, a manic grin on her face. "Lane and Kent! Lois and Clark! Look out, Metropolis! We're coming for you!"

And Clark wondered just what sort of madness he was about to wade into. But then he supposed that when it came to wading hip-deep into madness, there was no one better to be beside than Lois Lane.

* * *

-0-


	9. Out of the Blue

I know the concept of a sequel is a long way off - _-_ I'll be honest, this story is 42 chapters and an epilogue - _-_ but I finally got back into the groove of writing the sequel, so I'm proud of myself.

All feedback is appreciated (except for passive-aggressive comments about how you like Superman/Wonder Woman more. Don't do that. I blatantly stated my preference for Clark/Lois weeks ago.)

* * *

Chapter Nine: Out Of the Blue

The moon didn't rise until half-past midnight, a hazy silver glow behind the clouds. It added only a little light to the panorama of the Hell's Gate docks and jarringly, there was tiny flakes of snow floating out of the sky.

Lois and Clark were on a stake-out.

They had piping hot thermoses of coffee and bakery cookies and passed the time with some little racing game that you could play on your phone and against the people on your contact list. It was one of those little eight-bit style games from the eighties that beeped and booped cutely and reminded Clark of some of the games in Smallville's still-functioning arcade.

This was probably the strangest thing Clark had done since he had arrived in Metropolis. Although, since he had come to the city a little less than a week ago, there wasn't much to compare it to. Nonetheless, this wasn't how he had imagined closing out his first week in the big city.

Lois had spent the entirety of Friday afternoon pulling some strings with her various connections to get information on Sofia Gigante's movements. Where Lois was even getting this information was a mystery Clark didn't want to solve, but it had led them to pier twenty-eight on the Hell's Gate Island dockyard. Gigante was supposed to use that one a lot and the word on the pipeline was that she was expecting something to arrive tonight at some time past midnight.

"Do you do this a lot, Ms. Lane?" Clark wondered, watching his tiny blue car veer off onto the grassy median after Lois sent her little red car smashing into it.

"What, kick your ass? Seems to be happening a lot right now if you ask me." Lois said, zooming her eight-bit car towards the finish line for the victory lap. "Or do you mean the stake-outs?"

"Yeah. Do you do this a lot? You seem to have a system."

Lois shrugged. "Well, I won't lie." she said. "It's usually more comfortable in the summer, though, and I'm playing Tetris, not kicking your ass. God, you suck at this."

"You keep ramming me off the road." Clark pointed out, while his little car burst into pixelated flames.

"You should see me play _Mario Kart_."

Clark made a mental note to avoid playing games with this woman in the future unless he felt up to the challenge. Lois seemed like the very person who could take the Rainbow Road and win that course too.

Instead of challenging him to another round of pixelated vehicular violence, Lois lowered her phone and gave him a concerned glance.

"You still okay with this, Smallville?" she wondered. "I mean, this isn't offending your sensibilities? I know we had to climb over the fence and then pick the lock on the warehouse door..."

"No, it's not offending me. My sensibilities aren't _that_ delicate." Clark assured her. They had taken up a position on the roof of a storage warehouse that overlooked pier twenty-eight. There had been some minor breaking and entering to get this far. "I just don't want to get arrested. Not for something like this."

"Ah, you're a 'go big or go home' sort of man. I can respect that." Lois said, oblivious to his feeble sputter when he attempted to correct her. "But don't worry. Getting arrested is every reporter's rite of passage."

"Wait, I'm not supposed to worry over that?"

"Absolutely not. You wouldn't be in lock-up for more than twelve hours anyways. The police can't figure out how to enforce the trespassing laws in regards to public buildings and it's badly worded anyways. As long as you don't steal or vandalize or otherwise break in with malicious intent, they can't charge with any actual crime."

"I don't want to be arrested at all." Clark stated.

Lois grinned. "That's not what I heard from you!" she sing-songed. She patted his knee. "Y'know, I think I'm starting to get you figured out, Smallville. You like to pretend you're not adventurous or interesting, but the reality of it is that you probably have a record that's as colorful as mine."

Clark frowned. Lois had told him almost nothing about her teenage and college years, but she had implied her record was a Leonid Afremov painting for how vibrant it was. He didn't want to guess at even a quarter of the things she had gotten up to, but he knew that his record didn't come anywhere near to matching the scale.

Smallville had the footprint of a large town, but it was still very much a small town at heart. They had the coffee shop and the ice cream parlor and the one of the last operating drive-in theaters in the Midwest, but the _exciting_ things were spaced decades apart. Smallville was low-key and slow-paced and that was the way everyone liked it.

"There wasn't much to get up to in Smallville, Ms. Lane." he said.

Lois canted an eyebrow. "Outside of meteor showers and doomsday cults, you mean."

"Those were one-offs that happened to occur at the same time. It's not like that all the time." Clark told her. "You probably would have died of boredom if you had to spend more than a week there."

"You sound so sure of that." Lois commented. But he was probably right. Small towns and open fields just weren't her jam. "No horror stories?"

"'Fraid not." Clark shook his head. "Like I said, there wasn't much me and my friends could get up to."

"I can imagine. So what are your friends doing now?" Lois asked. When Clark hesitated to answer, she added: "C'mon, throw me a bone here, hayseed. We barely know each other and we're working in the same office."

Clark was tempted to point out that she hadn't told him much about herself either, but he was starting to get Lois figured out too. She didn't volunteer personal information beyond vague comments about what she may or may not have gotten up to during her apparently wild teenage years. Aside from a military upbringing, a German background, and an army general for a father, Clark knew next to nothing significant about Lois.

"What do you want to know?" he asked.

Lois made a thoughtful hum. "Friends are always a good place to start."

"Lana Lang and Pete Ross." Clark started. "I don't actually remember meeting Pete. His mom was the judge overseeing my adoption, so I guess Pete and I just clicked as much as a pair of one-year olds could."

"Yeah, I hear diaper rash is really a thing to bond over." Lois said dryly.

Clark scowled at her. "We met Lana in first grade. We made faces at her and she threw crayons at us, so the teacher made us sit in the corner and talk to each other."

His first grade teacher had been the sort who had advocated for the children to all be friends with each other and any disagreements could be resolved if they just talked to each other for five minutes. That was a nice idea in theory, but there were just some kids that refused to get along. Fortunately, that had not been the case for Clark, Pete, and Lana.

They had stayed friends all through elementary school and middle school. Things had gotten a bit rocky when Lana had inexplicably started dating Whitney Fordman, as Pete and Clark just hadn't been able to reconcile the sweet caring guy Lana claimed him to be with the asshole who had tried to swirly them on eight separate occasions over the years.

Whitney's head had deflated but only after he and Lana had broken up in senior year and he had become a more decent person in the process. Clark was still hesitant to refer to him as a friend, but they had parted ways at graduation on amiable terms.

"Pete got into politics. I think he's serving on the county council now. Lana took a gap-year, but she was accepted into this Paris fashion school. I think she's planning to launch her own designer label."

"And then there's you. Clark Kent the reporter." Lois said in the same disparaging tone one might use to say: _'And then there's this loser'_.

"I happen to be content with my job, Ms. Lane."

"Even though you have to spend your first week with me?"

"I don't think there's anyone better I could have spent it with."

 _Was that flirting?!_ Lois nearly dropped her phone in surprise and a hot blush spread all the way up her face to the roots of her hair. _Is he flirting with me? Is that farm boy flirting? Is that how farm boys flirt?!_

It didn't exactly sound like flirting, but how else was she was supposed to interpret a comment that clearly put her above the rest of their coworkers as the better option? More importantly, why did he think of **her** as the better option? She was no one's better option! She did her job like an obsessed psychopath! The things she did to get the full story would have put her in jail months ago if she had been living in any other city!

Except maybe Gotham.

Well no, in Gotham, she would probably be dead.

But the rest of her fiercely went: _Well you can't blame him for thinking I'm the better option! I may even be the best option! The rest of them are idiots! Honestly, what would he learn if he was being mentored by someone like Lombarde or Osborne or Joyce, god forbid._

Not as much. Even Perry would admit that out loud if he was prompted. There were at least ten other general assignment reporters that Lois had worked with and none of them knew the city like she did. They were either native to the city or longer-term residents than her, and yet she still ran circles around them. Metropolis didn't hide many secrets from Lois Lane.

Perry knew that and perhaps that was something Clark had seen too.

Lois squirmed internally at the faint praise. She felt warm all over. It wasn't very often at all that someone decided she was not only the better option, but the one that should actually be taken. Choosing her over anyone else was just as much a compliment as a vocalized compliment.

She didn't get those very often either.

 _What a smooth-talking bastard._

Clark was partially aware that he had said something to agitate Lois as he heard her heartbeat quicken, and it wasn't the angry sort of agitation. To him, it was more like the squirmy, uncomfortable sort of agitation that made her grit her teeth.

But his attention refocused itself quickly when the sound of two rumbling car engines became audible and approaching the dock quickly.

"Someone's coming." he announced.

"Duck." Lois instructed.

There was no raised partition to hide behind and the air conditioning units were located too far from the edge to be made use of. They wouldn't have seen anything from there. Instead, the reporters flattened themselves to the roof of the warehouse and hoped that, if sighted, they would be mistaken for architectural malformations instead of eavesdroppers.

As the pair of SUVs pulled up to pier twenty-eight, Lois fiddled with her phone, dialing down the screen-brightness so it didn't give them away and setting it to record video through night-vision. Clark followed her lead. The speakers wouldn't be able to pick anything up from this distance, but at least they could get was visual proof of Gigante's movements and maybe Lois knew someone who could read lips.

The first SUV executed a tight turn at the end of the pier so its back-hatch was facing towards the water and the bulk of it serving as a shield for the second vehicle. Both SUVs disgorged their passengers, Sofia Gigante among them.

She was powerfully tall with crinkled brown hair and a face like a cliff-side. Her shoulders were as broad as Clark's, her hands twice as large, and she was joined by men of varying crustiness and facial hair. One stood out for not being crusty or covered in facial hair, but he had an upper body as thick as the Great Wall of China. There were two women who looked like they might be able to rip out a man's spine through the anus. All of them were packing; semi-automatic guns or knives just long enough to be a problem.

Gigante began to pace back and forth in front of her henchmen. Long angry strides like a caged tiger growing short-tempered with its enclosure. She looked alarmingly like a small landmass causing small earthquakes with her constant shifting. Even twenty or more feet away, Clark could hear her speaking; her voice deep and throaty. She waved her hands expressively, her body language communicating just as much as her words. She was unhappy, frustrated, and ready to choke bitches, and all someone had to do was give the wrong reply.

"Dammit, I think she's speaking Italian! I don't speak Italian!" Lois hissed, frustrated that the language barrier stood between her and the story.

Clark tilted his head to listen better. It had been the better part of four years since he had last spent any substantial amount of time around the language, but his memory was excellent.

"I think she's worried about the guns being found." he reported. "Something about them being too exposed? She wants them moved."

Lois looked at him sharply. "How do you know that? I can't even hear them."

"I- _-_ I can read lips." Clark replied, hoping that would be enough of a cover. "And I can speak some Italian."

Lois looked at him in a mixture of surprise, awe, and predatory delight, but she didn't say anything as Gigante was speaking again and Clark needed to concentrate.

Gigante continued to rant in surprisingly calm tones, stomping her feet and waving a fist for emphasis every so often. Clark wasn't familiar with some of the phrasing she used. He spoke "Tourist Italian', which meant he had learned most of it from a guidebook, picked a little up off the streets, and he was far from fluent. Some of the henchmen responded with much simpler phrases, trying to reassure and placate her that the guns were safe where they were, nothing to worry about, but they would have them moved as soon as possible if she thought it was necessary.

"She's worried about the damage caused by the collapse of the drug trade." Clark reported to Lois when there was a break in the rant. "Something about... not wanting to beg for financial help, I think..."

Lois grinned savagely. "Daddy's little girl wants financial independence. Good. We might be able to help the police pin the meth on her." she said, satisfied. "Anything else you're getting from this, Smallville?"

"Hang on..." Clark peered through the phone screen at the line of henchmen who were probably likely to speak next. The two women and the four men were waiting attentively for an opening, but it was the final man with his monstrous upper torso who caught Clark's attention. For he had turned away from the group and was staring at the warehouse.

 _Right at them._

Clark's throat went dry. "Lois... The big guy."

Her heartbeat quickened. "Oh yeah, I see him. Clark?"

"Yeah, run."

It didn't matter about being spotted anymore because the large man was staring with an intensity that told them they had _already_ been noticed. Lois sprang to her feet, thanking every god she never believed in that she had worn sensible running shoes instead of her usual heels, and turned tail for the roof-access stairwell.

Clark hesitated for just a second longer, just long enough to see the large man burst into the air like a harrier jet and take flight much the same way. The very _air_ around him seemed to bend for an instant and then like it had slingshot him, the man launched forward with the speed of a cannonball.

 _Oh fuck me..._ Clark had the split-second to think, before his spine flexed like a muscle and he was in the air himself, darting across the rooftop after Lois. He grabbed the slighter woman around the waist and hurled their bodies over the side of the roof. Scaffolding broke under his back on the way down, Lois against his chest shrieking curses.

Clark heard the almighty crash as the large man slammed through the wall and part of the ceiling with the same force of a speeding car, before he hit the ground hard enough to dent the concrete. Lois jarred out of his arms at the sudden stop.

"What the fuck!? What the fuck was that?!" she demanded, trying to get her legs under her and get her bearings back after having them suddenly scrambled. They were on the ground. Why were they on the ground?

Beside her, Clark scrambled onto his feet.

"Lois, let's go!" he urged, pulling her up by her shoulders.

"Clark! You broke the scaffolding!" Lois shouted, gesturing wildly at the shattered beams.

"I'm alright. No broken bones!" Clark assured her brightly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yep! Run!"

They barely made it a few steps before the section of wall ahead of them caved outwards and the large flying man stepped through the new hole like the Terminator. He was enormously tall, towering over Clark by a good ten or twelve inches. He had bronze-colored skin and eyes that were an unfortunate yellow color. His hair had been shaved down close to his scalp and his hands must have been the size of trash can lids. Every muscle bulged and rippled across his shoulders and chest and abdomen, down his legs.

"Ooh, you're a big one." Lois commented brightly. She leaned close to Clark and hissed: "Think you could take him?"

Clark didn't even know how to respond to that.

The large man growled wordlessly and the sclera of his eyes turned bright red. Visible streams of heat cut through the cold air, sizzling the drifting snow into steam. Clark recognized _that_ , because he could that himself.

 _How?!-_ -

"Move Smallville!"

Lois pushed him out of the way.

Clark stumbled from the sudden shove, but she was already dragging him back down the road and around the next corner before he could lose his footing. The super-hot beams blew up the pavement where they had been standing. Without looking back, they ran for it.

"Did he just shoot lasers from his _eyes_?!" Lois demanded.

"I-I think so!" Clark nodded. "We should split up! He can only chase one of us!"

"Try and make it to the road!" Lois ordered and peeled off from him at the next junction shouting: "Hey ugly-face! How much bronzer did you use to get your skin that color?!"

She was going to make their aggressor follow her.

 _No way, Lois. He's as durable as me. You don't stand a chance._ Clark thought, shaking his head.

He lunged for the empty oil drums lined up against a wall and hefted one up. As soon as he saw the large man appear above the rooftops of the storage warehouses, he heaved it. His aim was bad, but the drum clipped the large man on the thigh and that was enough to make him turn towards Clark with a savage rictus grimace on his features.

"That's it, follow me." the rookie reporter goaded, breaking into a run. _Speed, flight, even the heat vision. Does he have super-strength too?_

Something with the force of a wrecking ball crashed into his back, taking him off his feet, and more or less answered Clark's question. He was introduced face-first to the concrete side of the nearest warehouse and then right through it in the very same second. He tried to get some control over his fall, but whatever biological mechanism allowed him to do that simply flailed helplessly. He hit the floor, rolling free of the debris. His momentum was only stopped by a solid pallet stacked high with boxes. Clark's head spun dizzily and he wanted nothing more than a second to recover and get his bearings, but a hand clamped around his neck bruisingly and hauled him up.

The choke was partly reflexive, but the _strength_ in the man's hand alone was enough to make Clark think he could actually choke to death this time. He was no dainty flower either; he was a good two hundred and twenty pounds at six-foot-three. But the man lifted him up like he weighed no more than a handful of grapes.

Up close, the large man was no more pleasant to look at. His eyes were quite distinctly urine-colored and his bronze skin had a red undertone. His teeth were more gray than white and he bared them in a snarl.

"Who are you?" he asked in baritone voice that seemed to reverberate. "Or do I just give you a name? Do you like ' _dr'quat hofra_ '?"

"I- _-_ I'm a reporter." Clark managed to say around the pressure on his vocal cords.

"You were snooping like a tiny little mouse." the large man accused, giving him a shake. Clark's glasses slipped down his nose. The man blinked and let out a sudden gasp, thrusting Clark away from him like he was toxic. "Jor-El?"

Clark blinked, fleeting recognition shooting through him. The name was familiar like déjà vu. He must have heard it somewhere just once before, but so vaguely that he couldn't even begin to place where he might have heard it.

"Nope." he wheezed, trying to dig his fingers under the hand that held him.

The man frowned, his thick brow furrowing. He brought Clark closer for a better look. A white film descended over his eyes, one Clark had seen on himself whenever he used his x-ray vision to look at himself through the mirror. The man scanned him up and down, but what he was looking for Clark had no idea.

"Hayl-El?" the man asked, albeit with a tad more confidence, like he was sure of the identity this time.

"Still not me." Clark informed him.

"No, you're not..." the man agreed, looking perturbed and angry in turns. "But you're Jor-El's son, there's no doubt of that. You have all the right features..." His eyes widened in horror. "No, he couldn't have! He didn't! He wouldn't have contaminated his own blood-line like this!"

The man directed this at Clark, like he expected the reporter to know the answer.

"Look, I really don't know what you're talking about." Clark said, ignoring the niggling thought that he _should_ have. This man had the same set of powers as him and was _mistaking him_ for other people. In twenty-three years, that had never actually happened to Clark.

"What I shame I have to kill you before I can tell you the crimes your father committed against the High Council." the man said, giving a pleased grin that made Clark's blood run cold. Like he was looking forward to the prospect.

"Hey fugly!"

Lois's voice rang out from way too close behind the man and a chunk of concrete broke over his head. The man dropped Clark and rounded on the small form of Lois with an eager grin.

"But you first." he said.

Before Clark could shout a warning, Lois jabbed something into the large man's ribs. Electricity crackled and Clark realized that Lois was carrying a taser. She ratcheted up the power and drove it deeper into the vulnerable flesh and more importantly, _it had an effect_. The man didn't howl, but he vibrated convulsively from the two million volts that ran through his system.

"Take it, bitch!" Lois shouted, all but shoving the man to his knees. The ampage wasn't enough to kill him, but the voltage would certainly stun him for a few minutes.

Rubbing his neck gingerly, Clark got back to his feet.

"Ms. Lane, we need to get out of here." he told her, tugging on her hand. "That's enough. I think you got him."

Lois jabbed the taser inwards one more time before she withdrew it completely. "And remember that!" she spat. "You don't get to mess with me or mine without suffering the consequences!"

They left the large man lying stunned in the warehouse, his muscles twitching intermittently, and ran their way back to the well-lit civilization outside the fence of the dockyard. They didn't stop running until they had put several blocks between the docks and themselves, when they had reached the first of the seafood restaurants and moderately-priced apartment buildings.

Then Lois let it out.

"Holy shit! What the fuck was that?! What the _fuck_ was that?!" she demanded, throwing her hands around. "Flying and eye lasers! And- _-_ and super-strength! I thought everyone was just joking!"

"Wait," Clark put a hand on her shoulder. "You knew about that man?"

"I thought it was a _joke_!" Lois repeated, her tone half-hysterical. "Some of the guys I talked to told me something about this freak of nature who worked for Gigante! He could fly and crush forklifts with his bare hands, but I thought it was an exaggeration! But it's not! That's the worst part! I mean, did you _see_ that?"

"All of it, yeah." Clark nodded, rubbing his neck some more.

Lois frowned and stopped him under the streetlight. "Let me see that." she said, tilting his head back to get a look at his neck and the red marks left by the hand.

"It's not bad." the rookie reporter said pre-emptively. "It doesn't even feel bad."

"He had you by the _neck_ , Clark. There are just some things you don't take chances with." Lois admonished. It didn't look bad _right now_ , but it would be different in a few hours. "We should put some ice on that, at least. C'mon, there's this diner a few blocks up."

Clark nodded and they set off up the sidewalk. Ice it down. Better safe than sorry. That man had been too strong to be human. He _wasn't_ human. Full stop. Clark had just met another alien and one who may very well have come from the same place as him.

 _He talked like he knew my birth-dad..._

As if Lois had read his mind, she asked: "What was that guy saying when I got there? I heard something about your dad and the crimes he committed? What has your dad done?"

"I think he meant my biological father." Clark clarified. His adopted father had never gotten up to funny business, save perhaps for a short stint as a juvenile delinquent with a Dodge Charger and some parking tickets. "But I don't know anything about my birth-parents."

"All the more reason to find out, huh." Lois encouraged, nudging him in the side. "Crazy man decides to punish the son for the sins of the father, I think it's damn well time you figure out where you came from."

 _I know where I didn't come from._ Clark thought, a bit ruefully.

But _where_ did he come from?

The question had been circling his head for the past eight years, ever since Johnathan and Martha had taken him aside to tell him what they knew of the big secret. They had no answers for him and he didn't know how to start looking.

He was goddamned alien from somewhere beyond the stars. Why his birth-parents had sent him to Earth was a question he might never know the answer to and he had only partially accepted that.

And now there was this man, an enforcer of Sofia Gigante with the flight and the speed and the strength and the same durability that Clark himself sported. This man who had spoken of his father and had mistaken him for not one but _two_ people.

Jor-El.

Hayl-El.

Who were they?

Were they family?

And what kind of names were those?

The man wouldn't give him any answers. Clark recognized the type of person who would just with-hold answers for his own amusement. And if not that, then he would probably carry through with his promise of killing Clark for the sins of his father. Going back to find that man and demand answers would certainly not end well for Clark.

Lois was right. The apparent sins of the father were bouncing back on the son and it was Clark who was going to suffer for it if he didn't buckle down and figure out where he had come from. It had never been all that important before (because where was he supposed to start? He was alien and there hadn't been an interstellar adoption agency involved and frankly, there were no clues), but now...

Now, it had just gotten extremely personal. It was his life on the line and he needed those answers like never before.

* * *

-0-


	10. Never Enough

There's going to be a crossover between CBS Supergirl and CW Flash what a time to be alive.

* * *

Chapter Ten: Never Enough

It was a common misconception that the town of Smallville had been so named for its exceedingly small population footprint and an apparent reputation for being a podunk one-horse town that didn't even have a four-way stop.

No, the town had been named for its founder, the eccentric Ezra Small. Historical accounts painted him as fifty percent mad ninety percent of the time. It was said that he founded Smallville on a whim and it hadn't even been his decision to make. A cobbler and aspiring historian on a wagon train to the west, riding a bad-tempered donkey and hauling a rickety, wobble-wheeled cart behind him and just a few pieces of coinage to call his own. The wagon train had made camp on the banks of Elbow River and Ezra had looked around, then told the leaders they were stopping here and that was the end of it.

The wagon train had been pushing for the promised land of California and the leaders had not wanted to stop in the middle of the Great Plains. But traveling such a vast distance was hard on the would-be settlers. They had lost time and traveling companions due to inclement weather, fatigue and sickness, a lack of palatable food and water. The Great Plains were almost painfully arid. Not to mention the sheer nastiness of the storms that kicked up.

When Ezra Small had declared the banks of the Elbow River a suitable place to lay down some roots, most of his traveling companions had agreed with him, throwing down their packs and calling it quits. The leaders and a small group of supporters had pushed westward as planned. Whether they had made it to California or had turned back was not a matter of historical importance. What was important was that, on the spot, Ezra had announced they would call their new home "Smallville" and no one had been in much of a mood to argue.

Despite its apparent location in the middle of nowhere, Smallville had unexpectedly flourished thanks to its proximity to the Santa Fe Trail. The then-tiny settlement had earned itself a hospitable reputation for not robbing the wagon merchants who came to pitch their tents for the night, then providing them with a hot meal and a chance to do some business. Thus, Smallville grew in fits and starts, but it grew.

Ezra Small had had something of a hand in that too. Not just for his reputation for being hospitable to the merchants (which encouraged them to come back), but he had contributed to the numbers. He had fathered eighteen children through three wives and five mistresses. At least, he had claimed the parentage of eighteen children. If the rumors were to be believed, he had also fathered a further twelve children before his death in the 1860s. One percent of Smallville's present-day population could trace their lineage back to the town founder or to one of the women he had supposedly bedded. That was just in Smallville alone, however. Ezra had a noted tendency to flirt with the merchants' wives or daughters, if they were of suitable age. He had been a handsome man, strong and healthy and virile. Certainly more than one woman had gone off into the darkness with him and returned a few hours later looking like they had gotten up to something naughty.

It was probably Ezra's canoodling habits that had gotten him killed. In the weeks leading up to his death, he had been very ill, displaying symptoms consistent with syphilis. He had died overnight, late in the summer with lightning flashing in the clouds. The fire marshal had found him in the morning long after he had breathed his last, huddled up to the base of the town well with his Last Will and Testament balled in his fist.

Over the years, Smallville had gone through its ups and downs. On the whole, it had never been a place of historical importance. No battles had been fought near the area. Even the Native Americans hadn't found the little town to be any sort of a problem (as long as Ezra didn't try to romance their women-folk). They had traded peacefully with the residents for years. A town called "Smallville" just didn't sound very threatening.

Indeed, the only real threats to the town had come in the form of Mother Nature.

On April 4th, 1984, Smallville had been slammed with the grand-daddy of all tornados. A super-massive cyclone that meteorologists tentatively took to calling an F-6, as its wind-speed had measured at nearly three hundred and fifty miles an hour. Packed in with hailstones the size of softballs and a lightning storm that had broken the record books, the storm had flattened Smallville to little more than splintered timber and crumbled stone.

The good people of the town had never learned that even in the midst of the disaster, something truly special had happened. Save for just two people, who would never speak of it.

These days, Smallville was completely rebuilt thanks to the competing efforts of LuthorCorp and Wayne Enterprises, the latter engaging in its usual charitable acts and the LuthorCorp contributing because it was Wayne Enterprises they were up against. Smallville had only benefited from the companies' efforts and the town had been sufficiently rebuilt before the first frost had set in.

Smallville continued to carry quite a _small_ town reputation even in spite of its population; approximately twenty-five thousand at last census. It wasn't small enough anymore to properly carry the small town nomenclature, but that didn't seem to have stopped it. Though its residential area had grown, its town center had remained quite small and strangely cozy with many locally owned businesses lining the main streets. Being a "small town" seemed to be a state of mind, rather than a state of being. Perhaps because the industry of the town was ultimately built around agriculture and supported the family-owned farms that dotted the surrounding fields.

There was one such farm on the outskirts, about six miles northwest of the town borders, though located more west than north. It was the Kent Farm, owned and operated by the Kent family for more than five generations. Most of the family had lived and died on that farm.

On a full-time basis, the homestead housed Johnathan Kent and his wife Martha, along with three dogs who earned their keep herding the cattle and defending the farm from any wandering predators. Clark had moved out only a few days into the month, packing just a duffle bag of clothes and toiletries to get him through. He had taken a train north to Metropolis, wanting to arrive in a more conventional manner.

Metropolis had _awed_ him, no doubt about that. Which was impressive for a man who had been halfway around the world and had seen some of the most gorgeous sights that nature sported and awe-inspiring cities that civilization had ever offered. From the towering skyscrapers of Hong Kong to the white-washed and red-roofed bungalows of the Mediterranean coast, Clark had seen quite a lot.

But if one was talking about great monuments of civilization and the forward charge of progress, then it was Metropolis that stood out above the rest. The Big Apricot was easily the great, grandest city in the contiguous United States. Yes, it even outstripped the likes of New York City. Its sweeping modern styles, shimmering steel, plate-glass windows, and sleek design all seemed to draw the eye in. It made no effort to hide its grandeur, instead flaunting it loud and proud. There was no other city in the world that yet matched Metropolis.

(Although some people presumed that if Gotham ever found a large enough pressure hose to blast away the grime, the east coast city could really give Metropolis a run for its money. They whispered this, as if they didn't want the Big Mucky to get any ideas.)

But for as glamorous and elegant that Metropolis was, Clark knew that his heart would still ultimately belong to the dusty, quiet life of Smallville where the pacing was slower and it wasn't surrounded by large bodies of water where crazy reporters could drown.

Two miles up and a mile out from the homestead, Clark heard a dog barking, deep and booming, and far more carrying than any typical dog who had been born on Planet Earth could hope to achieve. He smiled.

"Here, Krypto!" he shouted in the winter air. A not-too-distant blot, colored white and standing out even against the snow-patched landscape, changed its trajectory and raced towards him like a furry, four-legged missile.

Clark stopped his flight just to brace himself when Krypto tackled him bodily, already howling out a greeting. In the two years he had wandered the earth, Krypto the not-from-Earth canine had accompanied him across the country-side. Clark had been routinely complimented for having such a well-behaved and _gorgeous_ canine traveling companion. Everyone had been interested in Krypto's breed and his breeding (the latter of which was _so_ not happening). Clark had no idea what Krypto's breed might have been elsewhere, but a Samoyed/Siberian Husky mix was the closest Earthly equivalent.

The meteor shower of 1999 was the event that had brought Krypto to Earth. Among the falling chunks of space rock had been a ship. Smaller and less sleek, it had been recognizably a prototype of the same craft that had also brought Clark to Earth about fifteen years earlier. Krypto had been just a puppy of about six months old, all floppy ears and large paws and fumbling legs.

He hadn't _stayed_ a puppy, that was for darn sure. In short order, Krypto had grown from small fluffy bundle able to curl up on Clark's lap to large fluffy beast who forgot he couldn't fit in Clark's lap anymore, but still tried anyways. Over the course of a year, he had demonstrated the same powers as Clark himself; enhanced strength and speed. His senses proportionately enhanced. Powerful vocal cords. He didn't seem to have the same heat vision (which was probably for the better) and though it was hard to know for sure, he did seem to have x-ray vision.

On top of all that, he was _smart_. Not just smart for a dog, no, Krypto displayed a marked intelligence that was unusual for any animal with a brain the size of his own. It was clear that he absolutely understood everything that was being said to him. He could make plans and think ahead and reason things out, as shown when Pete had decided to measure the canine's purported intelligence with a series of tests, ending in a game of checkers.

Pete had lost eight times out of ten.

Lana had laughed herself sick at him.

Krypto descended on him with his tail practically propelling him along, tongue swiping warm saliva all over Clark's face and generally climbing all over him like he was still a small, wiggly puppy. Sometimes, Krypto didn't seem entirely aware that he was, in fact, over thirty inches at the shoulder.

"Hey- _-_ Hey, I was only gone for two weeks. Not even that." Clark said, obligingly combing his fingers through the thick white fur. "You didn't miss me that much, did you?"

Krypto gave him a really unimpressed look, as if he was saying _'No, I came all the way up here to drench your face with my drool because I didn't even notice you were gone.'_ Then he shook himself all the way down to his tail and resumed his happy, doggy grin, tongue lolling in the breeze.

"Alright, I'm being stupid." Clark agreed, scratching the sweet spot right between the shoulders that always made the big white dog start kicking his hind legs. "You missed me that much. It's obvious." He grabbed the large dog in a hug. "You were good for Mom and Dad?"

Krypto nodded.

"So there are no large holes I have to fill in? You know they don't want you digging in the fields because you dig holes six feet across and ten feet deep. If I have to be discreet with what I do, so do you."

Krypto rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue in Clark's ear, in retaliation for the lack of faith in his ability to control his not dog-typical attributes.

"Agh!" Clark jerked his head away and wiped at his ear. He shook a finger sternly at the dog. "You're lucky that you're cute and I like you."

Krypto preened. _'Yes, I know I'm adorable.'_

"Let's get out of the sky before we're sucked into a jet engine. It probably won't kill either of us, but let's not take a chance."

Krypto yipped an agreement and pointed his nose into the wind, back towards the farmstead. Clark buried one hand into the canine's ruff and kept pace.

It was a clear day, the Kansas landscape blotted with white snow as it unfurled beneath them. The likes of Lois Lane might complain about the flat Kansas plains and how there was nothing there, but the truth was, she hadn't seen them. She hadn't seen the blazing sunsets that shot streaks of red high to the sky or the spectacular cloud formations when the atmosphere kicked up a storm. She didn't know what they looked like in the summer dawns, when a fine layer of mist had settled across the fields and the sun had just started to peek over the horizon. She hadn't seen the darkest, clearest nights when the stars were the brightest things in the sky in the absence of the moon, when it seemed like you could see into infinity.

Maybe, one day, he would show her.

The farm was transitioning into winter mode. The cattle were closer to the barn with hay and grain and automated water troughs. The fields were mowed over, the poultry were shut up, and their five-year old Border Collie, Dusty, was lounging on a piece of plywood to stay off the cold muddy ground.

Johnathan Kent was almost done repairing the fence around the paddock where two retired race horses flicked their tails at the hardy bugs that hadn't been killed by the first frost and nibbled on the hay. He was fifty-two years old, but his dark brown hair was only showing some graying at the temples. He was weather-beaten with rough calloused hands and a farmer's tan that deepened a little every day. He was a kind, hard-working man and a fifth-generation farmer who had found his happiness out in the fields, working the earth. There was always dirt under his fingernails, sweat on his brow, and mud on his boots. He had a work ethic that seemed vanishingly rare these days.

Clark had always looked up to him.

How could he not? His father was easily one of the kindest men he knew. Honest, polite, yet firm and assertive, standing strong like an oak tree and never yielding to those who tried to bully him. Johnathan believed in never resorting to violence when a good talk could get the job done just as well. He believed that sometimes all people needed was a little understanding instead of being beaten down time and again.

Clark constantly strove to emulate those aspects. If he could be half the man his father was, then he would be happy.

The twenty-three year old touched down lightly in the mud of the drive.

"Hey Clark." Johnathan said casually. "Give me a hand with this."

"Not surprised to see me?" Clark asked, coming up beside his father to lift the board into place on the beam.

"Not with the way Krypto just took off like that." Johnathan replied, glancing to his son and flashing a brief smile. "He only does that with you. Besides, you said you were coming."

That was true. Clark had called ahead on Thursday, after getting the go-ahead on being allowed to move in. He still had a lot of stuff in his bedroom that needed to be shifted to his new apartment.

"What happened to the fence?" he asked, picking up the second hammer and a few nails.

"Coyotes. Spooked the horses, which spooked the cows." Johnathan explained, knocking the nail in. "They've been snooping a lot closer to the farm this year than any other year. I guess the hunting's bad."

' _Parasites.'_ Krypto thought uncharitably.

"Is anyone else having the same issue?" Clark wondered.

Johnathan shook his head. "Not that I've heard. Last night was the first time they've been around here." he said. "I'm going to have to reinforce the chicken coop. Can't blame the little bastards if the hunting's worse this year, but I don't want them getting at the chickens and I don't Krypto tangling with a coyote."

Clark looked down at the faithful canine and Krypto just wagged his tail proudly, then turned to exchange friendly sniffs with Dusty. Krypto was large for the breed Clark had to tell people he was. Furthermore, his paws were still rather big and he stumbled over them sometimes like he hadn't grown into them yet. And there was something quite lupine about the shape of his ears and muzzle.

"I think the coyote would come off worse in the fight." he said, nailing the board into place.

"That's my point. I don't want Fish and Wildlife to come knocking on the door."

Johnathan gave the final nail one more thwack to make sure it was secure and then clapped a hand on his son's shoulder, pointing him towards the house. "C'mon, let's go inside. Your mother's putting the boxes together. How's the new place looking?"

"Oh, it's good. I've got to scrub it down a little and pick up some furniture, but I like it already. The neighbors are quiet."

That was a serious plus for Clark. He had commented, off-hand, to Lois that he really didn't like a lot of noise and she had circled a few listings for him to investigate. She had good judgment, he would give her that. His new building was mostly full of college-aged students, artists, the elderly, and the otherwise eccentric (he felt like he fit right in) who would probably beat down his door for being too loud. Even the supervisor had told him that he tried to impose something of a noise restriction. He couldn't actively enforce it, so it was something of a common courtesy instead.

The farm house, rebuilt from the tornado that had chewed it away twenty-odd years earlier, was still warm and rustic, practically glittering with the nostalgia. Some of the holiday ornaments had gone up because of ambiance and there was blazing fire under the flue. Their eleven-year old tri-colored Bernese Mountain Dog, Hubble, was stretched out on the hearth rug warming his belly with the flames. Krypto and Dusty bounded over to him and exchanged mutual sniffs before settling down beside the elderly dog.

"Clark!" Martha instantly rose from the couch where she had been putting the boxes together and clasped him in a welcoming hug.

"Hey, Mom." Clark gladly reciprocated the hug. He hadn't been gone that long, but it still felt like ages since he had last seen his mother.

"Well, how's life in the big city treating you?" Martha asked, pulling back and looking him over for any abnormalities and was pleased to find nothing unusual. "Are you famous yet?"

He blinked. "For what?"

Johnathan grinned. "It made the news, son."

And that was all that was needed for Clark to remember that his little escapade through the fireball had indeed made the news. Explosions downtown were certainly going to make the news no matter what, but the feel-good story of a four-year old girl being saved from a particularly terrible death had added a more dramatic element to the news story.

People loved a hero.

Martha squished his cheeks lovingly. "That's my boy." she said.

"Mom..." Clark groaned, batting her hands away. "Don't make a big deal out of it. I saw it coming and I realized that I could do something, so I did."

"That's why I did this." Martha said and squished his cheeks again. "Because that's how I raised my son. And let me tell you, the pride I felt when I saw the story on the news? That's my boy."

Johnathan thumped his son's shoulder again. "You did good, Clark."

"I know." Clark agreed. _Still wish I could have gotten the driver too, but I guess I can't save everyone._

"I hope that's not going to attract too much attention." Johnathan added, sharing a worried and thoughtful look with his wife.

"Nah, I checked the comments on the videos. The general consensus is that I got really lucky. No one seemed to think that it was anything- _-_ super-human." Clark assured his parents. "Brave and stupid, but not really super-human."

"Just be careful." Martha reminded him, as she always did. "You know how people can get."

Clark knew very well how people could get. Between the doomsday cult and the aftermath of the meteor shower, he had gotten a very good look at just how crazy the human race could be when to came to the impossible being possible.

"How's work?" Johnathan asked.

"Ah, work's good." Clark replied diplomatically, shrugging. "I had an interesting first week, with my mentor. Who might be certifiably crazy."

"The good kind of crazy?" Johnathan wondered.

The twenty-three year old shrugged. "I don't know. Lois Lane is... something else altogether. Her style leaves something to be desired, that's for sure. I know I don't mind being thrown off the deep end, but her methods... It's like watching a train fly off the tracks in slow motion and then it lands upright and keeps going. I cannot emulate that. That's not something you can teach. That's luck. She has the best and worst luck I've ever seen in one person. I don't know how many times she's nearly gotten herself killed before I met her. It was _twice_ in this week alone. I swear she's trying to prove something to the entire world, but I don't know what. If she wasn't so crazy, she'd be the most impressive woman I've ever met. I've never met anyone like her... What?"

Somewhere over the course of his rant, Johnathan and Martha had adopted cat-like smiles of amusement and were sharing knowing looks that Clark couldn't decipher.

"What?" he asked again, wanting one of them to explain.

Martha smothered a giggle a tad unsuccessfully. "You'll figure it out." she told him. "So other than a slightly crazy mentor, you had a good first week?"

"It wasn't terrible, but last night could have been a lot better." Clark said, unwrapping his scarf. The movement drew his parents' attention to the dark mottled coloring that spotted his neck and the underside of his chin.

Martha gasped. "Clark, are those bruises?" She lurched forward and tilted his chin up for a better look.

"Good lord, those are bruises!" Johnathan realized, coming to his wife's side. "I didn't think you could bruise anymore! You haven't had a scrape since you were a baby!"

"Clark, what happened? This looks awful." Martha said, rubbing a thumb around one of the yellow-green edges. "Sit down, let me have a better look at those! Do you need any ice?"

"No. It's not bad. It's really improved overnight." Clark assured her, half in protest as his mother got him down onto the couch. There had been some swelling for all of an hour and the healing had started within minutes of stepping into the sun. He was already on the mend.

Martha snorted. "If this is 'improved', I don't want to know what it looked like before." she said. Her fingers skimmed over the worst patch directly above Clark's Adam's apple. "What happened? _How_ did this happen?"

Clark found himself hesitating for a second over telling them, but then told himself that he was being stupid. It had been a long time since he had with-held the truth from his parents and this was no time to start that up again.

"I think I ran into someone from the same place as me." he said.

It took them a few seconds to realize exactly what he meant by that. Martha blinked a few times and then she withdrew slightly with a profound "oh" expression. Johnathan inhaled suddenly and looked like he wanted to say something, but the words weren't there. His mouth worked silently for a moment and then he asked:

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure." Clark said, nodding. "He had most of the same powers. He could fly. He did the heat vision. He was fast and durable; he went through six inches of concrete without flinching. And he was strong enough to leave bruises."

"Clark- _-_ Son." Johnathan put a hand on the twenty-three year old's shoulder. "Just because he showed some of the same powers, it doesn't mean...

"I know Pa, but look at me!" Clark gestured to his neck, to the bruises. "I haven't scraped my elbows in twenty years! **I** damage the pavement! We know there's not a lot out there that can hurt me. I don't even burn."

"Your hair singed a little." Martha pointed out, ruffling the rough-edged locks.

"Clark, listen. It's been twenty years." Johnathan started, hoping to inject some logic and reality into this. "And two decades in a long time to go without- _-_ getting any answers."

"I know." He was keenly aware of that. "But I think he knew my birth-father."

He instantly hated the look that passed between his parents; a strange mixture of unhappiness and understanding, with just a tinge of annoyance thrown in for seasoning.

Clark wanted to be nonchalant about the whole thing. He wanted to pretend that he wasn't thinking about it, like it wasn't something that went through his head at least once a day. It felt traitorous to be saying anything about his birth parents in front of the parents who had raised him, who were his family in the ways that counted the most. He didn't want to make it seem like he was pushing them aside in favor of two people he had never really met before.

"It's just... It's the fact that it's been twenty years- _-_ eight since you told me - _-_ and I still don't have any answers. I don't even know how to get them. All I know is that I'm an alien and Krypto's from the same planet and that's- _-_ that's never been enough."

He let out a heavy sigh and threaded his fingers into his hair. Other than the prototype ship, Krypto's collar had also borne the same pentagonal shield featuring the stylized S - _-_ smaller but identical to a badge that had been sent with Clark. It was the only thing that really assured him of where Krypto had come from.

"And now there's this guy." Clark went on, looking up at his parents. "He mistook me for- _-_ for _Jor-El_. He looked right at me and _recognized_ me somehow. Maybe there's a distinct family resemblance."

Johnathan and Martha were silent, understandably so. They had sunk down to sit on the coffee table right across from their son, both mulling over the words. This day had been more than twenty years in coming. Telling Clark about his extra-terrestrial origins had been inevitable and they had passed that day eight years ago. But equally inevitable has been the day when his latent curiosity would finally get the better of him. When he would finally get frustrated with his inability to find the answers. When the need for them would start to become desperate.

The day had come and it felt like he had slipped away from them a little.

"I think the ships are still buried." Johnathan said. It felt like letting him go. But if they let him go, better the odds that Clark would come back. "If your birth parents left you any message, it'll probably be there."

Clark looked up, frowning a little as if to say ' _Are you sure?_ '

His father nodded. "Go on. We can empty your closet without you."

"But- _-_ "

"Clark, we'd never try and stop you from finding out about your birth parents. And we'd never be angry about it either." Martha said assuringly, making shooing motions. "We know you have a ton of questions that we can't answer and any parent would have left their child _something_. Especially with the way you came to us, so go."

"I- _-_ Okay." Clark stood up gratefully. "I'll- I'll tell you what I find." he offered. They deserved to know, at least. They were a part of this just as much as him.

He whistled to Krypto, who came scrambling so fast his paws left the ground. They left the house and set off to the southwest at a light run, nothing so fast it looked superhuman or super-canine.

Clark had buried both of the shuttles in Sounder's Gorge, about two miles outside the municipal boundary of Smallville. It was one of the few places where the meteor rock hadn't hit, so he was sure that the extra-governmental agency looking for aliens had had no reason to go poking around down there. He was the only person who knew the shuttles were there.

The trail sloped down into Sounder's Gorge and the pair came to a halt. Clark paused beside a rock formation at the mouth of the gorge and then took fifteen measured steps inside. The sloping walls rose up on either side and the air became very still. Once he had marked out the fifteen paces, he stopped.

"Should be right here."

He x-rayed the ground, sweeping it left and right for the shuttles. They were very distinctive, almost crystalline in formation, and identical in appearance, for the most part. The aft-end of Krypto's shuttle was a different shape, a little more bulkier than the baby shuttle, and colored more like smoky quartz than the opaque white that Clark had arrived in.

But wherever he looked, all he saw was dirt, dirt, and more dirt.

"They're gone?!"

He stepped back and widened his search. Maybe he had gone a few steps too far... but... Krypto turned a full circle, scanning the ground as well, but even his x-ray vision didn't pick up any sign of the shuttles and he knew what they looked like. He had watched his Alpha's dam build the prototype.

"I'm sure this is the right spot! They can't be gone!" Clark protested out loud.

' _It is! I helped you dig!'_ Krypto snuffled around the dirt. _'They should be here. I helped you dig.'_

He dug his nose in to the earth, inhaling deeply. Any dog's nose was more sensitive and powerful than a human's, but Krypto's sense of smell was proportionately enhanced. Whereas Clark could smell scents from half a mile away and up to three weeks later, Krypto could still smell the last place in the house that Lana Lang had touched three years ago and he could still get a whiff of where she had lived, even though the farmstead was four miles outside of Smallville.

But it was no good. It had been too long even for his powerful nose. Too many rainstorms had been through Sounder's Gorge and too much stray wildlife leaving their own scent-marks behind. The scents were long since washed away. He looked up at his Alpha and shook his head.

Clark scratched him behind the ears.

"I don't get it. You and me, we're the only two who knew where the shuttles were." he said. "We weren't followed. No one had any reason to come out this far. Who could have taken them?"

He looked around the gorge again. The only answer that came to him was the government agents who had followed the meteor shower. Bureau 39, they were called. An agency that didn't exist or at least the government didn't acknowledge that it existed.

They had come to Smallville looking for aliens.

Their commander had known about Krypto's shuttle. Unlike last time, when the super-massive super-cell, the tornado, and all accompanying factors had hidden all traces of radiation from Clark's shuttle and the rain had washed it away - _-_ orbiting satellites had been advanced and sophisticated enough to pick up the unusual structure of the prototype shuttle and thus determine that it wasn't a piece of space rock.

It had been a clear sky day when the meteors had fallen on Smallville.

The agency hadn't know _what_ to look for (not a dog; they had expected something more bipedal and man-shaped), but they had known where to look. They had gone door to door, flashing CDC badges and conducting sweeps of the properties on the excuse that they were searching for meteor rock; radioactive, too dangerous to be kept, all samples must be confiscated.

Lana had called the Kents before the agents had gotten there, warning them in enough time for Clark to hide and bury the shuttles, then come back along the country roads to pretend that he had just been out walking his new puppy.

The only reason why the shuttles wouldn't be here now was if someone had found them. Someone with access to the heavy equipment needed to uncover them, as they had been ten feet down in the earth.

"What are we supposed to do now?" Clark wondered. "I can't go find that guy again. He wants to kill me for something my bio-dad did. And what am I supposed to do when the craziest government agent I've ever met might have the only thing that'll tell me about where I came from? What happens if there **is** something and he figures out how to read it?"

Krypto had no answer for him.

* * *

-0-


	11. On Making the World a Better Place

Toss some confetti! This story cracked 20 reviews on the last chapter! Seriously, I know the Superman category is very low-traffic, so I'll call this a milestone. A slightly belated thank you to all the readers and reviewers. Hope to keep seeing you around!

* * *

Chapter Eleven: On Making the World a Better Place

Clark's apartment was a studio floor-plan that occupied a top floor space of a fifth floor walk-up and the sitting room doors opened out onto a south-facing terrace. It had a partition wall that separated the bedroom from the rest of the living areas, currently empty except for a second-hand dining set and an area rug where a couch and other chairs would eventually go. There were some cast-iron pans and stainless steel pots, bath towels and toiletries - _-_ house-warming gifts from his parents.

The terrace was also large enough for some vegetable planters and that had been the real draw. Living in the big city shouldn't stop him from enjoying fresh herbs and vegetables he didn't have to pay for, his mom had told him. When the weather warmed up, he was going to plant himself a little garden. Heirloom tomatoes, bell peppers, snow peas, and perhaps spinach.

What he didn't have yet was a bed. He hadn't had the time to shop around for the frame and the mattress, but it was on his to-do list for the coming weekend. He needed quite a few other odds and ends before the apartment was a proper living space.

For now, though, the air mattress would serve well enough in the short term.

Clark woke abruptly on Tuesday morning to find clear sunny October skies outside his windows, an unexpected Krpyto sprawled across his legs in the patch of sunshine that was shining through the east-facing windows, and his phone twittering in its charging station from multiple texts.

He blinked muzzily at the sleeping dog because Krypto was _supposed_ to stay behind in Smallville. He was a lot of beast for the size of Clark's new accomodations and though he loved the fluffy bastard with all his heart, Clark hadn't planned to take the dog with him to Metropolis.

Clearly, Krypto had had other ideas on the matter.

"There's no getting rid of you now, is there." he commented.

Krypto's tail thumped twice on the mattress and he seemed to smile.

Clark shook his head. He should have seen this coming from a mile away. They had been all but attached at the proverbial hip since Krytpo's arrival; the then-small puppy latching on to Clark like a limpet and following him whenever possible. He was exactly the sort of faithful dog who had followed Clark all the way to school and waited for him to come out. Then two years around the world as inseperable traveling companions. Krypto was smart enough to know what he wanted.

And that included coming to Metropolis with his favorite person.

"Well, I wasn't exactly looking forward to living alone." Clark admitted, sitting up to scratch the dog behind the ears. "But you have to stay out of the _Daily Planet_. You can't follow me to work."

Krypto opened one bright blue eye and looked at him like: _'We'll see about that.'_

The texts were from Lois.

All twenty-something of them.

Clark had been pleasantly surprised come Monday when Lois had continued to interact with him in a manner precisely like friends. He'd passed her desk and she had called out: "Heya Smallville." and grinned when they made eye contact. He was sure that everyone in a ten-foot radius had performed a double-take, like they had never ever seen Lois greet someone before. At least not in a non-sarcastic way full of prickly dislike.

If their fellow reporters hadn't already been eyeballing Clark like he was magic, then sure as hell now thought he was the divine reincarnation of an ancient, beloved deity. For, in their eyes, no human could exist in such close proximity to Mad Dog Lane without being burned alive.

Clark wasn't human, so was the joke on them?

"Lois, seriously." Clark muttered as he scrolled up to the very top of the text chain.

They started off as _"Do you want coffee? I'm getting coffee."_ and various other offers of what he might like for breakfast and if he was awake yet. Another text assured him that she had gotten coffee and another asked for his opinion of frosted donuts versus glazed, sprinkles versus jelly-filled, and if he didn't get back to her on that, he might not like what he got. Further down the chain was a picture of a fat fluffy rabbit in someone's side-yard ( _"Dude, check out this fat bunny!")_ and Clark realized with some small degree of horror that Lois had been texting him on her way through Little Bohemia.

Because he recognized the sunshine yellow house behind the bunny, with cheery blue window shutters and the classic white picket fence. It was six blocks away from his building, one block up from the J-train stop he used to get home. Not much more than a five minute walk and the text had been sent very nearly five minutes ago.

Lois was probably already in the building.

Presumably with coffee and donuts.

It was six-thirty in the morning; she had better be bringing coffee and donuts.

Clark extracted his legs out from under Krypto and rolled out of bed, picking up his glasses along the way. He had just enough time to straighten the blankets back into some semblance of order before he heard Lois in the hallway, her heels clacking on the tile like she was weighted down and trying to keep her balance. Some part of her body thumped into the door in the semblance of a knock and Clark's phone dinged again with another text. He slid his glasses on, darkening the bright blue to navy, and went to open the door. Lois was in the hallway with two cardboard mugs of coffee perched on top of a variety pack of donuts.

"Ms. Lane, good morning." Clark greeted.

"You got my texts!" Lois said happily, a broad grin stretching across her face. "I thought you were ignoring me."

"Being asleep doesn't count." Clark told her, standing back to let her in. "What are you doing here so early?"

"Work-related." Lois obligingly wiped her shoes on the welcome mat before she stepped on the laminate wood flooring. "For some reason, Perry is very lazy early in the morning and will only call one half of the partner group to inform them of a change of plans. So change of plans."

"What's going on?" Clark asked, taking the coffee cups from her. One had his name written on it.

"Press conference. You need the experience." Lois put the donut box down on the table and then looked around at the rest of the apartment with a frown. "How do you have a table and chairs, and absolutely nothing else?"

"Someone was getting rid of their dining set." Clark said. He gestured to his cabinets. "You should see my Tupperware collection. Apparently, the people of Smallville think that Tupperware is an appropriate house-warming gift."

"Or they think you're a lonely bachelor who's going to eat nothing but leftovers." Lois commented, rolling her eyes over the small town mentality. "Holy crap! You have a pony!"

With an expression of utter delight, she pointed past Clark towards the partition that separated sleeping from living, where Krypto was sitting directly in Lois's line of sight. Upon being noticed, he rose to his paws and bounded over to her, the very picture of an excitable puppy. And then - _-_ never minding the fact he was thirty-five inches at the shoulder and weighed around one-twenty - _-_ he leapt on Lois.

"Look out- _-_!" Clark warned, a little too late, as both dog and woman hit the floor in a heap. For her part, Lois didn't squawk in pain but rather squeamish joy when Krypto decided that her face would be much more complete once he had covered it in drool.

"Shelby!" Clark reached forward to haul the dog off her, using the false name that didn't arouse as much attention as 'Krypto'. "Don't jump on people. I thought I trained that out of you. C'mon, sit."

He was proportionately stronger than the large canine and was able to pull Krypto back without much trouble. The dog fell back obediently, sitting his rump on the floor, his tail thumping and his tongue lolling happily.

"Sorry, Ms. Lane." Clark helped her up.

"Never apologize for your large dog. If I get taken down by one hundred pounds of floof, that's how I go." Lois declared, wiping her face clean of drool. She straightened the sling bag around her chest and gestured to Krypto. When the dog came forward, she started with a vigorous ear-scratching. "Shelby, you said? He's gorgeous. What's his breed? Is he albino? I've never seen eyes like this on a dog."

"He's a Samoyed-Husky mix, not albino." Clark answered. "I don't know anything beyond that. He was a stray that wandered on to the farm."

"Well, he is _cute_." Lois assured him. She flashed a grin up at him. "Just like his owner."

A hot blush blossomed in Clark's face and he had to cover his mouth and clear his throat of any uncomfortableness. Lois smirked like she had taken revenge and then straightened up, taking off the bag.

"I came by for more reasons than just donuts and schedule changes." she started, digging into the bag. Her eyes skirted over his neck, where the bruises were just yellow-green splotches on the verge of disappearing entirely, and her eyebrows rose questioningly. "Remember flying strong man with laser eyes?"

"How could I forget?" Clark reached for his coffee. It was generic black coffee with some cream and no sugar.

"Well, I called in a favor with Colletta - _-_ contact of mine in the SCU. Special Crimes Unit." Lois waved a plain folder from which she took out two photos of the same large black man who had attacked them at the Hell's Gate dockyard. One photo had come from footage on Lois's phone. "Colletta ran his face for me. We got a hit and we got a name."

She presented him with the second photo.

"I give you, Norman Essex."

It was a professional photo, like a blown up version of an employment photo. The big man looked nearly the same, except his expression was borderline pleasant instead of snarling and he wore a pair of rectangular glasses that dulled that piss-yellow color of his eyes to something more brown-ish yellow. He wore a crisp white shirt and a black tie.

"Norman Essex." Clark repeated, getting a feel for the name.

"Of all the things he could have been before he started cracking heads for Gigante, he was a geneticist at S.T.A.R. Labs." Lois went on. "Actually, he worked at some D.C. facility for ten years and then got hired up before S.T.A.R. Labs even opened. He was there for three years before he just up and quit. Nothing in the official records. But I already called the PR folks at the S.T.A.R. Labs yesterday. I got us an appointment to meet with one of Dr. Essex's co-workers on Thursday."

"That quickly, huh."

"I work fast."

"I thought you were focusing on Gigante, though." Clark pointed out. He could understand the interest, but he thought the focus had been Gigante and her position in the city.

"Clark, this man was _flying_!" Lois said emphatically, waving her hands. "He shot heat beams out of his eyes. He knocked down a wall like the fucking Terminator. He didn't even flinch when I hit him with that concrete. The only thing that made him twitch was the taser. It may just be me, but I think we should prioritize him over Gigante. I'll worry about her once we've dealt with her heaviest hitter."

"Fair enough." Clark sipped his coffee.

"Anyways," Lois slapped him lightly on the arm to redirect his attention. "Press conference at nine o'clock."

"What for?" he asked.

"Mayor Kovacs is holding it to inform the city of the impending plans for West River." Lois explained, making her way over to the clothes closet. "This is like the initial stuff they finalized."

"We're still working together?" Clark asked, surprised. He had been sure the partnership would end once the mentorship had.

"Perry has it in his head we're a good team." Lois said. She opened up the folding doors and looked into the closet. "There is so much flannel and plaid in here..." She shook her head and started digging around for the suits and nice shirts. "He's not _wrong_ , exactly. When it comes to partners, I've had the worst of the worst. They all end up running away and I'm left with a pile of work because they can't handle a little excitement in their lives. You try to be boring, but you're not a total loss."

"Uh, thanks." Clark shrugged, assuming she meant to compliment him.

She turned up a blue-gray suit jacket and a matching pair of slacks that smelled a bit like mothballs, but otherwise in excellent shape. She pulled them off the hangars and tossed them at Clark.

"Here! Hang these up in the bathroom when you take a shower to steam them out. It'll get rid of the mothball smell." she said, walking back past him to pick up her bag from the tabletop. She swiped two glazed donuts and a large bear claw out of the box and picked up her coffee. "The press conference starts at nine down in city hall. Just make sure you have your press badge and be there by at least eight-thirty. Bring all your stuff."

"Ms. Lane, did you just come down here to give me coffee, donuts, then tell me about Norman Essex and pick out clothes for me?" Clark asked. That was either a vague invasion of privacy or the most domestic thing that had ever happened to him; he couldn't decide. He didn't bother to question how she'd known where he lived; she had helped him find the apartment.

But coming down here at six-thirty in the morning with breakfast things and an apparent need to raid his wardrobe... The former was a nice gesture and he wasn't sure what to make of the latter.

Lois smiled a bit secretively around the rim of her coffee cup. But all she said was:

"Bye Shelby. Keep your human out of trouble."

Krypto barked an affirmative and stood so stiffly at attention that he probably would have saluted too if his muscles and bones were better configured for that sort of movement.

Then she was out the door and gone like a gust of wind, leaving Clark standing a bit punch-drunk next to the dining table with coffee in one hand and clothes draped over the other. Lois had barged her way in and then barged her way back out in a matter of minutes and she might as well have clocked him over the head in the process for as dazed as she left him feeling.

Part of him wanted to think something along the lines of: _How rude..._ But that made no sense. Another part of him wanted to think: _What a gal!_ - _-_ but that made even less sense.

Another part of him that was operating on a considerably more rational level of sense told him to make sure that he didn't encourage future similar behavior from Lois by insinuating that he was not offended by her early morning arrival.

Because he wasn't offended by it. He knew that he should be, on some level. Since he hadn't noticed the texts until about a minute prior to her arrival, she had essentially turned up without warning. And whether you were in the small town or the big city, advance warning was just a common courtesy.

"Honestly, I should be offended she showed up so suddenly." Clark said out loud.

Krypto tilted his head. _'You're not.'_

"I mean, I should be _really_ offended." Clark said again, more like he was trying to convince himself. "I never stood for Lana barging in and I knew her for years. Why should that be different for Lois?"

' _I'd give you my opinion, Kal, but neither of us are telepathic.'_ Krypto thought.

Clark looked down at the dog as though he knew what Krypto had just thought and didn't think it was all that complimentary. Occasionally, there was a time when he wished that they actually had a better method communication that was faster than the keyboard and clearer than body language, of which Krypto's was markedly different.

Then it hit Clark - _-_ why his parents had been so amused when he'd talked about Lois with those smug smiles and knowing looks, and his own opinion on the matter. The mere thought was so absurd and left-field that Clark doubled over in horror and came up laughing over the sheer weirdness of the idea. Krypto gave him a concerned expression.

"Mom and Dad think I like Lois. **I** think I like Lois." he told the canine, and laughed some more.

He didn't. He didn't _like_ Lois. She was insane and abrasive and untrusting. She grubbed for stories the same way a gorilla grubbed for termites. She was persistent, stubborn, hard-headed, selectively deaf, and possibly somewhat suicidal. She went after everything with such a tenacity that she simply **had** to be trying to prove something. She had openly admitted that she didn't make friends easily. She was a good person somewhere deep down, but there was an awful lot to wade through before one found that good person.

He didn't want to try dating a coworker either. There were so many television shows about office romances and how sexy and mysterious and forbidding they were, but the whole idea was probably more awkward in reality and Lois would probably end up making the whole thing very embarrassing. Her shame-levels appeared to run quite low. Secondly, Clark didn't want to add fuel to the fandango rumor that had gotten started last week.

It wasn't something he would do either; casually date a woman he had met only a week earlier. For some men, simply knowing the woman existed was enough of a reason to ask her on a date, but Clark wasn't that sort of man. At best, Lois was an acquaintance. And she certainly didn't like him. She had just put up with him for the mentoring-partner business. It wasn't her fault Perry had decided to assign them to work together.

It was probably just a short-term thing anyways. Until he had gotten his sea legs.

"Y'know Krypto, there are moments that make me glad I'm not actually human." Clark commented out loud. "As a species, they just don't make sense sometimes."

' _You upright primates don't make much sense to me either.'_ Krypto agreed.

* * *

Metropolis City Hall was a gorgeous old structure that had burned to the ground once. Its foundations were over three hundred years old, but the current building was little less than a century old. After catching fire and burning out of control, the city had latched on to Art Deco as the primary inspiration when it had come to rebuilding. Though there was a distinct art nouveau flair to break up the straight lines and right angles.

Additional buildings of a more modern style had been added to the surrounding city blocks, as Metropolis had grown larger and needed more space for the management of its local government. The room where small press conferences were typically held was located in the one of the newer buildings with a functional sound system and was designed to accommodate a hundred or so people. It wasn't a large room, over all.

That being said, Clark still couldn't find Lois.

There weren't that many people in the room. There were representatives from every significant news outlet in the city, from broadcast media to internet news to the traditional press reporters. The _Daily News_ , the _City Post_ , and the _Metro Eagle_ were there; three of the more respectable papers with large circulation. The _Metropolis Star_ , of course, since it fancied itself respectable. WMET and WBGS for the radio, and Channels 53, 9, 6, and 91 who all reported on the news. And none of the people even looked like Lois. That should have made her much easier to find.

It wasn't.

"WGBS being here is redundant." said Lois's voice near Clark's shoulder.

"What the- _-_ Ms. Lane!" The twenty-three year old jumped in faint shock. She must have come up behind him. "Wh-What did you say?"

"I said WGBS is redundant. They actually don't need to be here because they're part of GBS." Lois said, under the impression that it was all she needed to say.

"That doesn't explain very much to me." Clark pointed out.

"GBS and the _Daily Planet_ are both sister companies under Galaxy Communications. Along with some others, I don't remember who." Lois explained, waving a hand dismissively. "GBS handles the news broadcasts through the _Daily Planet_. The radio guys don't really need to be here."

"By your logic, we don't need to be here either."

Lois frowned. "Explain, Smallville."

"Well, a lot of people have said that traditional newspapers have been going out of style because the internet is becoming more and more of a useful tool, now that we're past the initial burst of selfies, shameless social media, and porn-sharing." Clark explained. In the earliest days of rapid-access internet, you hadn't been able to do a search without hitting ten porn sites on the first page alone. "But beyond that, if the _Daily Planet_ is also part of GBS, then the only people who actually need to be here is the television crew."

Lois frowned even harder before she ran a hand through her hair and assumed a lofty posture of confidence. "Newspaper isn't dead yet, Smallville."

"Well then, we should sit down and give our profession its due respect." Clark suggested.

The older reporter tapped him on the chest in a companionable way and smirked. "I like the thing way you think, Clark Kent."

They found seats near the front of the assembly and were settled in with several questions ready to go by the time the mayor of Metropolis and her cabinet came onto the stage.

"Hey, look Smallville." Lois nudged him in the ribs. "They're all white men."

"You sound offended." Clark noted.

"I'm just noticing a distinct lack of diversity up there."

Mayor Joanne Kovacs was somewhere in her fifties with curled brown hair cut short but it was the sort of hair that poofed outwards and upwards instead of laying semi-flat. She had quite a lot of dark blue and black suit jackets in her wardrobe, and skirts that looked like hybrids of the A-line and the pencil. Her blouses were always crisp and white; so much that Clark was half-sure this woman still starched her collars.

"Thank you all for coming. I know this was a bit short notice." Mayor Kovacs started, folding her hands over one another. "I've arranged this press conference to outline to the people of Metropolis the proposed plan for the borough known as the West River. I'm going to open the floor immediately to questions."

There was a flurry of waving hands. The moderator peered around the room and pointed mostly at random.

"Sheri Shaw, _City Post_." started the selected reporter. "The plan includes bulldozing the West River. How are you going to handle the relocation effort?"

"We're going to restore the neighborhood a little bit at a time as to not completely displace the residents all at once." Mayor Kovacs said. "There are still empty apartments west of Flute Avenue and- _-_ "

"What have these people done to afford those apartments?" cut in a voice that made Lois shudder in her seat and Clark looked down at her in alarm when her heart-rate increased and he practically heard the rush of the blood in her veins.

Mayor Kovacs tilted her head. "I'm sorry, you are?"

"Lacy Warfield, _Metropolis Star._ " the buttinsky said.

The revolted reaction was not limited Lois, Clark realized just half a second later. As soon as the young woman said her name, a hissing noise echoed around the press room, not unlike a leaking gas pipe. About fifty people recoiled with an expression that suggested they were either experiencing gastro-intestinal distress or wishing the woman ill will.

"The people in the West River are poor." Miss Warfield went on, either unperturbed by or oblivious to the quietly seething dislike that rolled around her. "What are they going to do to afford those apartments?"

"Those aren't luxury apartments, Miss Warfield, and they're government-subsidized. I'm sure we'll come up with a solution that will satisfy you." Mayor Kovacs said evenly. "The simple fact is that we don't want to create a shanty town while reconstruction is occurring. It is actually cheaper to house them in the empty apartments than to let them lean on welfare services which, if I may add, is still not adequate enough to manage the current number of homeless in the city. Yes, I am aware of the state of our welfare services. That's why I don't want to strain them any further. And yes, we're actively working to correct the problems."

Clark thought he saw three of the cabinet members stop smiling for an instant, their expressions flickering into disbelief before they forced those smiles back faker than before.

"We are going to divide the West River in grids." Mayor Kovacs went on. "All the residents of Grid A, for example, will be permitted to move into the still largely-unoccupied apartment complex in lower Cheswalk near the Catfish Bridge. Once Grid A is fully refurbished and ready for occupancy, the residents of Grid B will be permitted to move there. And so on. As for employment and affordability, that is still on the table, but we will be sure to get back to you on it before bulldozing begins next April."

Looking somewhat chastised, Miss Warfield sank back down into her seat.

"Any further questions?" Mayor Kovacs inquired.

Lois was the first to raise her hand and the moderator pointed at her.

"Lois Lane, _Daily Planet_. Tax hikes. Even with all the donations, there's no doubt this is a massive undertaking. How is this going to affect city taxes and more importantly, for how long?"

Mayor Kovacs nodded. "Thank you, Miss Lane. I was hoping to get to that." she said. "Without a doubt, there will be an increase in city tax. We need to be able to fund this operation and yes, a fair portion is going to come out of taxes. We can't give you any exact numbers until we're further along in the planning, but from this outlook, I don't see it being much more than perhaps... five percent?"

Various members of the (all white male) cabinets experienced the flicker-of-disbelief thing again, as though the mayor had just said something they hadn't agreed on. Clark suspected that he saw because his perception was fast enough to catch it. Beside him, Lois was frowning.

Another reporter asked how long this reconstruction was expected to take, to which Mayor Kovacs gave an answer the various men also didn't seem to enjoy hearing.

"Barring any delays, we're hoping for a completion date in late 2009 or early 2010." she went on. "However, the project is larger than just the West River. Over the course of the next ten years, we plan to rebuild Metrodale and the Slums back to their former grandeur."

"Why is it going to take ten years?" demanded someone from the back of the room, sounding downright antagonistic. "Everyone knows it could be done in five!"

Lois and Clark turned in their seats along with everyone else to see the man who had spoken up and Lois gasped excitedly. He was late twenties with flat greasy hair that didn't seem to benefit from regular shampooing and the sort of nebbishly pale look one acquired when they spent too much time in a dark room at a computer screen. He looked like he had tried to affect some sort of Indiana Jones appearance, with a beaten leather jacket over a shirt that was probably not naturally that yellow-looking and that was definitely a fedora squashed under his arm.

 _A fuckboy out in the wild!_ Lois realized with a smothered giggle of glee. _Oh, this is a delight! I almost never see one in broad daylight like this!_

"Actually, we can't. The safety concerns with some of the oldest buildings- _-_ " Mayor Kovacs said, but the fuckboy steam-rolled like a pro.

"Safety concerns? Like _what_?" he sneered nastily. "There aren't any. That's just an excuse to delay construction indefinitely and when you _finally_ get around to it, everything will be sold off to some rich investor who'll sell the land to his club-house buddies and all the people you're _saying_ this project is going to benefit will be shut out! Once again, the poor get kicked into the river while the rich live the high life!"

 _A social justice warrior fuckboy! I didn't think they ever left their computers! Oh my god, this is the best day of the year!_ Lois smothered another round of giggles.

"That's not- _-_ " Mayor Kovacs started again.

"And then it'll be the same story with Metrodale!" the fuckboy bellowed.

"Security, please escort this man from the room!" Mayor Kovacs ordered.

"You can't silence me!" the fuckboy shouted as the black-suited security officials came forward to remove him. He struggled against them almost tokenly but otherwise allowed them to drag him out of the room. "The people have a right to know the truth! The truth that the rest of you so willingly hide! You're all sheep, you reporters! You're just mouthpieces for _lies_!"

Any more was silenced when the door shut on him.

Mayor Kovacs rubbed her forehead briefly, like she was sort of starting to regret doing this. "Let's take five minutes." she said, starting to get to her feet. "I forget to get a glass of water. And my headache medicine."

The press room immediately broke out chattering and the mayor vacated the seat behind the main table. As soon as she was gone, the men of the cabinet turned off their microphones and bent their heads together.

"Poor mayor." Clark said softly.

Lois shrugged. "She was the lesser of two evils."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, nothing against her. Mayor Kovacs has actually done a pretty good job since taking office. But that's mostly been attributed to her reversing a lot of Berkowitz's asinine policies. She doesn't have a lot of political experience, so winning the election was exactly like getting thrown off the deep end. She went from sewage official to mayoral candidate in under a year and she wasn't exactly prepared for it." the older reporter explained, albeit with some sympathy. "But our other candidate was Buck Sackett. And there was a good reason people liked to call him 'Buttcrack Ballsack'."

"Lovely."

"I know."

"So Sackett was extremely unpopular?" Clark prompted.

"Oh, more than you can imagine." Lois agreed. "He wanted to outlaw birth control and hormone therapy to everyone who needed it, which included not just trans-individuals but post-menopausal women and men suffering from testosterone imbalances. Oh, he also believed menstruation was a lie perpetuated by feminists and therefore wanted to ban hygenic products like pads and tampons on the basis that we didn't actually need them. That was a pretty much the tip of his dickery."

"That was just the _tip_?" Clark blinked, his jaw hanging shock and disbelief that someone could be so stupid and still think they actually had a chance winning an important election.

"And it doesn't even touch his connection to the KKK." Lois added. "So it's not hard to see why the majority vote went straight to Joanne Kovacs. The only shit she ever touched was in the sewer system."

She tapped her pen on the notepad several times.

"You know, I'm all for questioning authority. It'd be my motto if I was expected to have one." she said. "But you actually have to give authority a chance to respond before you tear into them."

"What's your point, Ms. Lane?" Clark inquired.

"The greasy fedora-wearing fuckboy back there." Lois elaborated, inclining her head towards the door. "I'll be the first to admit that I don't have a lot of faith in the government as a whole. It's one thing to shout at them when they're being deliberately vague and trying to hide elephants in the crab grass. But it's entirely another thing when they're actually being very reasonable. I mean, ten years is a plausible estimate of time for the scope of the project. Three run-down neighborhoods to restore, two of _considerable_ size. That's going to take time. Ten years is probably the _minimum_ estimate. But the Greasy Fuckboy is also right about one thing, much as I hate to agree with him."

"What's that?" Clark asked.

"The project could be mysteriously stonewalled out of existence and all that tax money disappears down a black hole. Or that once the project finishes, the working poor aren't even given a second glance and everything is out of their tax bracket." Lois said, crossing her arms and looking ill at ease with the idea of agreeing with someone who didn't appear to have changed his shirt in six months. "Then again, some people are only getting their balls in a twist because Mayor Kovacs has a vagina and they're convinced she's going to ram Metropolis into the ground."

"But you said she was the better option." Clark said.

"No, I said she was a lesser of two evils." Lois corrected. "I also said she hasn't done a bad job. She knows how to funnel resources into projects. She knows how to prioritize. She just didn't have a plan going in to office. She ran her campaign on reversing Berkowitz's stupidity. She lacks a fair bit of experience. Let's say in thirty years, you're a fantastic reporter and you're really _good_ at the job. But how would you feel about suddenly being shoved under the authority of a week-old rookie who's only experience is with a puff piece on ducklings in a storm drain rescue and _their_ job is now about telling you how to do _your_ job?"

Clark turned that over in his mind for a moment and then he looked at the cabinet members who still huddled behind the table and talked quietly. Experienced politicians who had been under several different (male) mayors with long histories, now under the command of an inexperienced woman who didn't have the history they'd had.

"Now you're getting it." Lois said, satisfied and pleased. "There has been a strong effort lately to preserve a shitty status quo that only benefits rich white assholes. Rich white _male_ assholes. Those men up there have tried to destroy everything Mayor Kovacs is doing. When it came to reversing the Berkowitz policies, they fought her every step of the way. If she doesn't succeed with this, her credibility is in the toilet."

"Grim assessment, Ms. Lane." Clark observed. It was probably true, given the backstabbing nature of politics, but still grim. Especially for a city like Metropolis.

Gotham, maybe.

But not Metropolis.

Lois scowled. "Smallville, you've been halfway around the world and back, and you're telling me that you haven't seen what's actually wrong with America?"

"To be honest," Clark took a deep breath. "I didn't pay much attention to the news on my way around the world. I spent most of the time exploring. And Smallville was never a hub for national news. I only suffer ignorance, Ms. Lane. Not apathy."

Lois regarded him for a moment, her eyes sweeping up and down his body language like she was looking for the lie. Not finding anything that hinted at lies, she nodded approvingly

"That's good to hear." She patted his shoulder comradely. "And don't worry about the ignorance thing. We can turn that around. As long as you stick with me, I'll turn you into a socially aware investigative reporter in no time at all."

Clark let out a thoughtful hum, letting the words sink in. He wanted to help Metropolis. That much had been clear to him from the start. Metropolis was a better city than most, but it still had its problems and it was becoming increasingly clear that said problems could easily lead to ruin if nothing was done. He wanted to do something to alleviate them.

He wasn't even sure what, but _something_.

Lois had the idea that putting pen to paper and fingers to keyboard was precisely the way to do it. Call out the problems; use the power of the press to bring attention to them and get the public involved. Once nine million people got wind of something that would impact their lives negatively, they usually rallied together and stood poised to lash out. At the end of the day, politicians were just a handful of people standing against a tidal wave of angry humanity who had the power to end their careers. It was people like Lois Lane who made sure there were no hiding spots for the politician garbage.

In a small way, Lois was bringing change to Metropolis.

It just wasn't happening particularly fast because certain groups of people didn't want it to.

Clark didn't know what he could do to help speed it up, but there was no sense in not trying.

* * *

-0-


	12. The Mad Men of Science

Do you ever have those writing moments where it's not quite writer's block, but a scene just doesn't want to be written and getting through it a paragraph at a time is like pulling teeth? Since I had a wisdom tooth out not that long ago, I can accurately attest that this takes five minutes and a drill.

Getting through the sequel's chapter 6 was like that.

Fortunately, chapter 7 came along much more quickly and I'm halfway through chapter 8.

* * *

Chapter Twelve: The Mad Men of Science

S.T.A.R. Labs had been founded about five years ago by three educated men who had put their brains together and decided that there needed to exist a laboratory that was unaffiliated with any business or with the military. A place where any scientist, researcher, or engineer could work on their experiments without being hassled by men in suits who weren't interested in discovery for the sake of it. Where the betterment of mankind could be found, rather than forced.

There was a branch of S.T.A.R. Labs in only three cities. Robert Meersman directed the lab in San Francisco. Harrison Wells ran the one in his hometown Central City, overseeing the beginning stages of construction on a massive particle accelerator that might put CERN to shame. And Garrison Slater ran the smallest of the labs here in Metropolis.

'Smallest' was still something of a relative term when you considered the sheer size of the Central and San Francisco branches. The Metropolis branch occupied approximately sixty-five hundred thousand square feet of a bulge on West River Island. The other two facilities were double that size.

This did not include the parking lots or the out-buildings or as-of-yet undeveloped empty lots.

"I don't think I've actually said this before," Lois started, half in a tone of awe at the sheer size of the complex. "But you really do have to respect the egghead scientists when it comes to getting things done. When they buckle down, they're actually very good at it."

"You sound surprised." Clark noted. "There are scientists all over history who have accomplished a lot by throwing chemicals and lava and acids at things."

The older reporter shrugged. "I know, but you don't hear about that progress until after it happens." she said. "And in my experience, scientist keep getting distracted by the new shiny things and it's six months before they get back to their original project."

"You could say the same about writers too."

"True, but a writer's project usually doesn't have such a visible scope until you can see their entire body of work. _This_ , Smallville," She gestured to the complex laid out in front of them. "This is like a testament to hundreds of years worth of dedicated researchers. It's like a save haven where they can all call each other 'nerds' without it sounding like an insult. It's like some giant temple where scientists can worship at the altar of discovery. Science isn't even my thing and I still have some respect for the fact that a place like S.T.A.R. Labs exist at all."

Clark blinked. "I feel like you've gone off on a tangent."

"I probably have."

It took a few minutes for security to clear them and issue their visitor badges, allowing them enough time to ogle over what there was to see from the out-building. The security post was practically nothing but windows, giving them a wide view of the S.T.A.R. Labs complex. It was a network of sweeping white buildings covered in more glass and steel than the entirety of Metropolis itself, many of them connected by sky bridge gerbil tubes. It was like some sci-fi writer's version of the future, where straight lines and sharp corners were nonexistent, where everything else was chrome and stainless steel and whiter than polished marble, where the computer screens were more like projections, glowing an odd sort of blue-green with just a frame and no backing.

"Hey Smallville," Lois nudged him, gesturing to the security's computer. "What do you think the price tag is on those bad boys?"

"More than we make in a year, I imagine." Clark answered. He blinked. "What do we make in a year?"

"Before or after taxes? I pulled down about fifty-two hundred in the first six months when I did my taxes, so I figure we're looking at about thirty thousand a year. Enough to live on in this city." Lois answered. She eyed the computer again. It was a sweet piece of machinery, the broad example of future technology and probably still very much experimental, but just a delight to look at. It might become mainstream one day and she would be pleased to say that she had seen it before it was cool.

She shrugged. "It's probably really expensive, though. You're right."

"You wanna know how much?" the security guard wondered.

"Just fuck me up."

"'Round about sixteen hundred thousand to go from concept through development to actuality." The guard grinned at Lois's cringe. "And they coughed up twelve of these beauties." He stroked the side of the screen a bit lovingly. "Runs about ten times faster than my laptop and that's only two years old."

"Comparatively speaking, your laptop is five years out of date." Clark said.

"True." the guard agreed. He produced two plastic bins and set them on top of the desk's wall. "I'm going to need you to place all electronics and any metal into these bins and then step through the metal detector, please."

"My glasses too?" Clark asked, pointing to them. The frames were plastic and screws might be too small to get picked up by the detector, but those things were often mad sensitive.

"Better let him keep them on. He makes bats look sharp-eyed." Lois said, stepping out of her shoes; they had buckled straps on them. She had never seen anyone with lenses so thick and she used to hang around the pizza-faced nerds in high school. Poor Clark's eyesight must have been so completely shot that no contacts or laser surgery could save him.

The guard just waved them on and they stepped through the detector with no incident. They collected their belongings, were handed their badges, and went on to the visitor's lounge where Dr. Sullivan had agreed to meet them.

It was a testament to how big S.T.A.R. Labs was starting to become when Clark and Lois passed the beginning of a tour group consisting of a dozen or so people. Mostly of the lonely nerd variety and the distinctly out of place Asian couple with their cameras and tourist shirts. The tour guide was perky in voice and smile and chest, the latter of which was going to tear the nerds' attention in two.

 _Absolutely a disaster waiting to happen._ Lois thought. Most of those nerds over there were lonely **and** hopeless with the concept of social interaction. These were kinds of nerds who didn't communicate with women because they didn't know how. A pretty tour guide essentially paying attention to them on some level was going to cause their minds to slowly self-destruct.

Lois had spent enough time around those nerds to recognize when it was going to happen.

She glanced sideways at Clark who looked every inch the lonely, hopeless nerd she was used to. He had the glasses, only a vague grasp on what could be loosely called a fashion sense, and a demeanor that was prone to being squirrely and non-social.

But at the same time, he just wasn't that sort of nerd at all. Despite his hunched shoulders and occasionally groveling speech, he carried himself with a lot more confidence and made a passable effort at flirting. He smiled a lot, greeted everyone, and there was a bunch of little old biddies at the _Daily Planet_ who were completely charmed by his good farm boy charisma and he bore their cheek-pinching and collar-folding with a good-natured patience.

It was a bit uncanny, honestly.

The visitor's lounge was empty, so Dr. Anthony Sullivan was easy to spot. He had dull blue-green eyes behind rectangular glasses and salt-and-pepper hair. His cheekbones were sharp and prominent, but the rest of his face was stately and distinguished, his jaw square and proud like the face of Greek statuary. Another couple of years and he'd be one hell of a silver fox.

"Dr. Sullivan?" Lois called out, as they approached the round table where the engineer sat. Dr. Sullivan looked over and immediately got to his feet, prompting Lois to hold out her hand in greeting. "Thank you for meeting- _-_ "

With a grin on his handsome face, Dr. Sullivan blew right past her without so much as meeting her eyes.

"You must be Mr. Kent." The engineer seized Clark by the hand and pumped it enthusiastically, his grip strong and crushing. "I heard about you on the news last week. It is a pleasure to meet you, absolutely a pleasure!"

"Th-Thank you?" Clark glanced over at Lois. She stood there with her hand outstretched and her expression insulted.

"Really, I've been dying to shake your hand since I heard the story. What a thing you did!" Dr. Sullivan said ecstatically. "A fireball that big and you walked away without a scratch!"

"Uh... Just lucky, I guess." Clark shrugged. "Oh, that's Lois Lane." he added, tilting his head to his new partner. "She's the one who got us this appointment. All of this was her doing."

Dr. Sullivan looked over his shoulder and jumped a bit like he had just seen the woman for the first time. He immediately turned to her, politely not focusing on her gritted teeth smile as they exchanged handshakes.

"My sincerest apologies, Miss Lane, I didn't actually see you." He chuckled warmly.

"That's never happened to me before." Lois said. People usually did not walk right past her like that; like she had all the importance of a shrub. Besides, how the hell had he not seen her? She'd been standing right in front of him!

The engineer smiled apologetically. "I suppose I did get a little caught up in the moment." he said. He gestured to the table. "Well, why don't you two have a seat and tell me what you wanted to talk about."

"First of all, thank you for agreeing to see us." Lois said, once they were situated - _-_ notebooks out and recorders primed. During that, she had performed a quick, cursory examination of Dr. Sullivan. He was in his late fifties or so, wearing a white lab coat with singed sleeves and discolored patches. His I.D. badge was melted on one corner and he seemed to prefer snappy bowties over neck-ties. His clothes were otherwise generic; things he wouldn't be bothered having to dispose of. All in all, the mechanical engineer seemed happy with his job and it probably wouldn't be difficult to get the answers out of him (the way his eyes kept wandering to Clark, though, that might be trouble).

"We would like to ask you a few questions about your old co-worker, Norman Essex." she started. "His name's crossed our paths in conjunction with another story we're working on, but we're not sure how he fits into it."

"Well, you're going to have to fill in the blanks for me. Norm and I haven't spoken or really seen each other in some time." Dr. Sullivan admitted. "Where would you like me to start?"

Clark gave a small shrug. "What was he like?"

"As a person, he was intolerable, smug, and too full of himself. Drunk on his own intelligence. Toxic. I couldn't stand him." the engineer said, sneering vaguely. "As a scientist, he was downright brilliant. A bit mad, but that's what everyone says about people like him. He had these fantastic ideas that were ahead of the decades. They were so advanced that they couldn't even be accomplished."

Clark and Lois shared a look.

"Meaning what?" the more experienced reporter asked.

"Let me put it this way. Say it's the nineteen-fifties and you want to build a cell phone. Just like the smartphones we have today." Dr. Sullivan proposed. "Same size, same functions, identical down to the last specs."

"That'd be impossible. The technology would barely exist and especially not in that size." Clark said. "We didn't develop wireless transmissions until the mid-1990s."

"Exactly my point. That was Norm's problem. What he wanted to do..." Dr. Sullivan shook his head, waving a dismissive hand. "He'd have to invent the technology first before he could even do one-sixteenth of the things he talked about."

"Which was?" Lois prompted.

"Wipe out genetic defects and possibly mental disorders." Dr. Sullivan said. "He talked about cures for cancer and cystic fibrosis. Activating stem cells in the human body to complete the fetal growth that someone with cerebral palsy might have missed out on. Stimulating the hormonal glands to correct chemical imbalances at the root of most mental disorders. All things like that."

"Sounds like he wanted to change the human race for the better." Clark commented. "But all those ideas... That's twenty or thirty years down the road, before we'd start seeing some considerable return."

"Yeah, didn't we really start getting into stem cell research just recently?" Lois asked. She turned back to the engineer. "So, we know he quit working here. Did that have anything to do with a lack of progress?"

"Somewhat, I suppose." Dr. Sullivan's brow furrowed as he trawled through the memories. "Norm definitely wasn't content with having to wait. He wanted progress in leaps and bounds. His ideas were all very commendable, but it never occurred to him that he would be taking baby steps to get there."

"So it was the impatience." Lois concluded.

"Actually, that wasn't the exact reason." Dr. Sullivan said. He smiled wryly. "Norm started to think that if he was going to make any progress _and_ sell his proposal to the board, he needed to begin human trials as soon as possible. Dr. Slater turned him down flat, so imagine my surprise when I discovered a fresh hobo corpse in his lab."

Lois lit up in realization. "Oh! Oh, I heard about this! They smothered it into a rumor, but I did hear _something_ about human experimentation at S.T.A.R. Labs!" She practically squealed this.

"I'd appreciate it if you would let it stay a rumor, please and thank you. This job is about all I have."

Lois mimed a zipping motion across her lips. The engineer looked meaningfully at Clark.

"I'm not one to spread rumors." the younger reporter said.

Dr. Sullivan smiled and nodded before continuing. "Well, after that, it was obvious Norm was going to be fired. He quit before Dr. Slater could tell him to start packing. I haven't seen him since. I can't say I was sorry to see him go, either."

"If you didn't like him, then why did you spend so much time with him?" Clark wondered, and winced at the faint note of accusation in his tone. "I mean, he seems like he might be a toxic person."

"Oh, he was abhorrent! He was nuclear waste! And he certainly didn't come with warning signs until it was too late." Dr. Sullivan corrected, shuddering. He dragged his fingers through his hair. "I promise you, Mr. Kent, Miss Lane, I would have had absolutely nothing to do with him if I'd had the choice."

"Did you two have to work together?" Lois asked.

"Not directly. It was more l like I couldn't be rid of him." Dr. Sullivan said. "I didn't like him, but he had a very different idea. I admit, we were the only two people who were smart enough to keep up with each other, which made me the only person in the entire complex who was worth talking to.

"Norm is someone who doesn't like people. Absolutely hates them, to be honest. If he could shut himself up in an isolated lab in the mountains and communicate through robots, I guarantee he would have done it. He thinks the human race as a whole is a stinking, slithering, disease-ridden mass of undeveloped cells with _great_ potential, but no idea how to get there and no desire to. Norm developed the unfortunate belief that he could become a savior to mankind by curing them of their ills."

This was met with nothing more than a half-stunned silence, as neither Lois nor Clark had any words to grapple with. Because _wow_ that just sounded like the premise of a badly executed villain origin story. It sounded one hundred percent comic book ridiculous to both of them, particularly Lois who dealt primarily with facts. But at the same time, it wasn't as utterly far-fetched as it felt like it should have been. Because there _were_ people like that in the world. Those mad scientists caricatures had come from somewhere and if Dr. Essex has been drunk enough on his own intelligence, he really could have fancied himself some kind of messiah type with the ability to cure humankind of their worst diseases.

"Excuse us for a moment, Dr. Sullivan." Lois said pleasantly.

Then she got out of her chair and dragged Clark with her. He let out a token protest that sounded more like a mumble, but still followed her across the visitor's lounge to the restrooms on the opposite side. He didn't actually protest more audibly until she had pulled him through one of the doors.

"Ms. Lane!"

"What?"

"This is the women's restroom." Clark told her, his eyes skirting around the interior. It seemed vaguely pastel and lacked urinals, and he was _almost_ disappointed about the lack of anything mysterious. The point, though, was that he had never actually set foot in a woman's restroom before because that was just impolite.

"Relax, it's empty." Lois assured him, though she peered briefly under the stalls just to make sure. "I need to ask you something and I needed it private. Do you think everything Dr. Sullivan is saying sounds like bullshit?"

"I- _-_ I can't really say for sure." Clark admitted. "I mean, it does sound a little pre-rehearsed and it feels like there _should_ be something wrong, but I can't put a finger on it."

"Exactly! This is pinging my bullshit radar like nothing else, but I can't tell if he's lying!" Lois complained. "I'm good at telling when people are lying to me. I'm very good at it. But I'm getting mixed signals from this guy, like he's telling what he hopes is the truth but also doesn't think it is."

Clark pondered over the last few minutes, trying to determine exactly when Dr. Sullivan's answers had started to sound just a touch off. Lois must have gone in from the start determined to find something fishy, but he hadn't been so suspicious.

"What do you think he's lying about?" he wondered.

"Hard to say. If he's lying out of his ass, he's good at not showing it." Lois grumbled.

She was probably reading body language and listening to tone of voice to catch the liars. Except anyone could iron out their tells with enough practice. Clark, on the other hand, had the benefit of being able to hear the heartbeat. There was a physiological reaction when someone lied; their heart-rate increased, for one. Dr. Sullivan's heart hadn't even fluttered. He was either telling the truth or he believed that he was.

"What do you think, Smallville? Where do you think the lie is?" Lois asked.

"Well, I didn't start picking up anything remotely suspicious until Dr. Sullivan started talking about how socially repulsive Dr. Essex was." Clark answered. "I get the feeling the relationship between them was like competitive enemies, but if Dr. Essex really hated people as much as implied, I think he would have been in a privately funded isolated mountain lab working for the government. Not here in an independent facility surrounded by people. It's my opinion, but if you don't like people and tend to complain loudly about it, then why would you inflict your company on them if everyone's just going to walk away in bad moods?"

"Very good point." Lois agreed. She had crossed her arms, looking pensive. "To some degree, we're being lied to. We're being told that Dr. Essex is one of those mad scientist types who wants to do good by doing evil. But if he's a scientist with great big dreams, why isn't he holed up in some abandoned barn continuing his experiments? Why is he working for the mob?"

"Good question. We should ask." Clark suggested.

"I'm all over it." Lois declared, shoving her way back out the door.

Dr. Sullivan was right where they had left him, though he had pulled out his phone in the meantime. Lois returned to the table with the determined expression she wore when she was about to light the fires under one's ass.

"Dr. Sullivan, do you know what Essex is doing with himself now?" she asked, sitting down again.

The engineer shrugged. "It's like I said; I haven't seen him since he quit. If you're looking for him, I can't help you." he said. "Do you know?"

"Yeah. He's cracking heads for the mob."

That was clearly news for Dr. Sullivan. He gasped. "My god, really? Are you sure? Are you sure it was him?"

"Spotted him Friday night down at the dockyards with Sofia Gigante herself. Did you know he could fly?" Lois asked.

"Fly?"

"And shoot lasers from his eyes. He's pretty indestructible too and super-strong. Did he ever play mad scientist with his own genes?"

Dr. Sullivan gave them a blank stare before he abruptly broke into laughter like that was the most absurd thing he had ever heard. It was an appropriate response, but to Clark's ears, the whole thing sounded strangely forced.

The engineer was only laughing to cover his nervous response - _-_ the way his heart skipped a beat and the sweat that had started to bead his brow in nearly invisible droplets, the barest of tremors in his laugh.

Lois had poked a vulnerable spot and though she didn't know that, Dr. Sullivan likewise had no way of proving the extent of her knowledge.

Besides, Dr. Essex and Dr. Sullivan had worked together for three years, probably lunch buddies. You didn't spend that much time around a person, talking to them day after day, without learning something about them. And a man obsessed with the idea of his own genius curing mankind probably wouldn't stay very quiet about being able to fly.

Hell, running to tell his parents about his newfound flight abilities had literally been the first thing on Clark's mind upon discovering his ability to throw himself at the ground and miss.

But Dr. Sullivan just laughed it off.

"That's ludicrous! Norm was crazy, but do you really think he was _that_ crazy?" he asked, looking at Lois. "Do you really think he'd be so irresponsible as to inject himself with un-tested _anything_ or subject himself to radiation treatments that might very well kill him?"

"No one thinks Lex Luthor shoved his father off the fiftieth floor." Lois stated. "But you just have to be crazy enough to try something radical to get what you want. And what little footage I have from Friday night that is coherent clearly shows your coworker flying through the air like a goddamn hang-glider. I know what I saw and you're trying to convince me I didn't see it? Do you know who you're talking to, Dr. Sullivan? I'm Lois Lane!"

She didn't thud her fist on the table, like someone else might have done, but the way she drew up her shoulders and chin imperiously had the same effect. Dr. Sullivan's otherwise jovial exterior wilted a little.

"The _Daily Planet_ stands for the truth, so I don't write babble. I write facts!" Lois went on, her tone snapping and firm. "I didn't get my Pulitzer or the vague respect of half the city by letting lies slip past me. I came here for the truth, not your bullshit!"

Dr. Sullivan tugged off his glasses to polish the lenses with a cloth and his blue-green eyes seemed to flare with an impossible glow. Lois didn't see it (so focused she was on glaring the man down) but Clark did and it made his breath catch. The way those eyes turned a rich sea-foam green, a similar color to the nightlight down the hall from his childhood bedroom.

The only eyes Clark had seen do that - _-_ come _alive_ just like that, with that shine and glow like they weren't just reflecting the light but capturing it, turning it back like eye-shine and moonlight... The only eyes he had seen do that were his own.

 _Dr. Sullivan knows about what Dr. Essex can do. He's known about it long before we ever saw him on the Hell's Gate docks. Dr. Essex can do what I can do. He can hurt me. And Dr. Sullivan's eyes do what mine do when the glasses come off-_ - _admittedly, that's a lot less to go on, but I've been halfway around the world and I've never seen anyone else with eyes like mine..._

Feeling detached from the conversation, as Dr. Sullivan tried calmly to convince Lois that he was indeed telling the truth, Clark nudged his glasses down just enough to peek over the rims. He peered under the engineer's clothes and then his skin, past the too-large heart and lungs that must have been as big as his own, and down to the curious bundles of fiber that wrapped the doctor's spine in a helix pattern- _-_

And jerked his eyes away, swallowing a gasp and too many different emotions with it.

"Well!" Lois slapped something down on the table, leaving a business card there. "When you feel like telling me the truth, you have my number." she said irritably, and shoved the chair back. She gathered her things. "Let's go Clark. We're not getting anything done here."

Then she stormed away from the table, her heels striking the floor sharply and shoving things into her purse.

"Well, thank you for your time." Clark said to the mechanical engineer, hastily making to follow the other reporter. He caught up to Lois in just a few strides and fell in step beside her.

"It was nice to meet you, Miss Lane." Dr. Sullivan called out after them. And then, in a pitch that was too low and whispering to carry, he added: "And to see you again, Kal-El."

Because that wasn't meant to be heard by Lois. Only by Clark. And it should have meant nothing to him. It should have been two meaningless syllables, little better than gibberish. And while on some level it was exactly that, the same two syllables still hit Clark like a punch to the gut.

It was a physical, almost visceral reaction he experienced; one that touched his fight-or-flight reaction that made him want to either punch Dr. Sullivan in the mouth or just run out of there, possibly both in that order. But the feeling disappeared as quickly as it had blossomed in the first place, nonetheless leaving with a faint sense of disorientation and a squirmy feeling in his throat like he oughta be shouting or screeching incoherently.

'Kal-El' fell into the same pattern as 'Jor-El' and 'Hayl-El'. Except it was more personal. Those names (he assumed they were names) were accompanied by a vague sense of fondness, like he knew the people who bore them and cared about them in a peripheral way. But 'Kal-El'...

It was as familiar to him as the name given to him by the Kents.

Maybe it was the name his birth-parents had given him.

Maybe Dr. Sullivan knew them too, just like Norman Essex seemed to.

Because they were all from the same planet.

Dr. Essex had the same array of powers and Dr. Sullivan had the same anatomy.

Clark was only human on the surface. On the outside, and the inside for the most part, he was virtually identical. His lungs were a little bigger and his heart might have been classed as "enlarged" if a cardiologist ever got a look at it. His bone density was twice that of a human's and he built muscle tissue very easily. Almost as soon as he learned how to keep himself in the air, he had also learned that he had a transparent nictitating membrane (a third eyelid) that slid over his eyes to protect them from glare, debris, and the wind itself.

Likewise, Krypto had similar bone density and muscle tissue. The size of his heart would have alarmed any veterinarian; it was just far too big even for the size of canine he was. They also both shared one very particular feature that set them apart rather jarringly. He and Krypto both featured a double-helix-like structure wrapped around their backbones. Whatever it was, it was limber like a muscle and flexible like a tendon, bending with their movements and never impeding them. It had a fibrous, slightly spongy texture. Clark sometimes wondered if it was an extension of his spinal cord.

Dr. Sullivan shared this same feature, unlike the other billion humans Clark had seen in the world.

"Hey Smallville," Lois nudged him gently in the side.

Clark startled from the light touch, coming out of his own thoughts. His brain rejoined reality for the first time since leaving S.T.A.R. Labs and he was a little surprised that they were already at the platform for the next train back to New Troy.

"You look thoughtful. What's up?" Lois wondered.

"Funding." Clark said suddenly, the word leaping out of his mouth like his brain had been ready to throw it out there.

Lois blinked. "What?"

"Dr. Essex needs funding." Clark elaborated. Yes, his brain had definitely been mulling over this in the meantime. "He's been on his own for two years. He still has bills to pay and a belly to keep full. Any money he would have had from research grants probably ran out. If he doesn't have the funding, he can't continue his research. And mob pay is probably good pay."

Lois snapped her fingers. "And without leaving Metropolis, he couldn't have chosen better than Gigante. There's no other mob family left in the city." she added. "He stays close so he can rub success in Dr. Slater's face." She grinned in anticipation. "Ooh, we might be on to one hell of a story here. Hell yes! High-five!"

She thrust her palm out expectantly and so quickly that it took Clark an extra second to process what she was requesting. He reciprocated the high-five a tad unenthusiastically.

"Weak, Smallville! That was weak!" Lois crowed. "You do it like this!"

She grabbed his wrist before he could retract it and slapped her hand off his with a resounding smack. Clark could see the very instant she regretted it, when she realized just how rock-like his hand was.

"Ow?... Why did that hurt?" she wondered, shaking her hand vigorously.

"You were very enthusiastic." Clark said, for lack of a better explanation. The actual explanation was that his body tended to absorb blows like that just exactly like concrete.

"Geez, if that was just your hand, I'd love to see what the rest of you looks like." Lois commented, hardly for the first time.

"Ms. Lane..." Clark started, a little weary of her repeated comments about wanting to get a better look at the rest of his physique.

"Right, not the time." Lois agreed, taking out her phone. Then she beckoned for him to lean in so she didn't have to talk over the rattle of the train pulling in. "Okay listen up, Smallville, because we're going to divide up the work-load on this. You're getting Dr. Essex because Gigante's _mine_. And here's where I need you to start..."

* * *

sorry for the delay. I had to swap internet browsers.


	13. Too Weird For Words

For the first time in... Well, ever, I request that you keep criticisms to a minimum. My 15-year old cat (update) has passed away (April 1) and I gotta admit that my emotional state is feeling a little fragile right now. Let's just go with good vibes and happy thoughts.

I'm uploading this anyways because I'm going to need the distraction.

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: Too Weird For Words

The first Monday of November slunk up quietly on Metropolis in a slithering kind of way as to avoid the bombardment of alarm clocks and vile swearing. The day started off cold and bitter and brightly lit, an irritating combination if there ever was one. It was one of those days when it actually looked really nice outside. The skies were clear, the sun was out and for just a minute, it looked like it might just be quite warm out there for this time of year.

But then you actually stepped outside and there was an eight-below wind-chill factor and seven inches of snow on the ground and all it was reflecting back the light, for seven inches of snow had actually fallen on Metropolis over the course of the night. That Monday morning was out to blind everyone and freeze them afterwards when they were stumbling around helplessly.

Lieutenant Maggie Sawyer put on a pair of sunglasses before she even stepped outside.

The chill breeze was the first thing to rush up into her face, carrying with it a burst of the loose, powdery snow that had dropped overnight. The tiny flakes pelted her skin in a stinging kind of way. She grabbed the lapels of her long jacket and pulled it tighter over her neck in lieu of a scarf.

Detective Dan Turpin followed her out the door, hissing out a curse when the reflected light struck him fully in his unshaded eyes. He threw his hand up and stared down at his feet to make sure he wouldn't trip while the light blinded him momentarily.

They didn't say anything as they made their way down the front walk. An officer lifted up the line of yellow crime scene tape, allowing the pair of them to duck under it. They crossed the street back to the car, which was decorated with all the decals of the Metropolis City Police Department, plus an additional banner declaring them from the Special Crimes Unit.

Maggie got into the driver's side of the car while Turpin fell into the passenger's seat with a heavy slump that rocked the vehicle. They pulled the doors shut, finally cutting out the loud whispers from the gawkers and the ongoing squawk of the ambulance sirens.

"That was ugly." she said quietly.

Turpin nodded silently. Nothing else needed to be said.

Maggie started the engine to get them away from the scene.

The meth lab bust from the second week of October had been exactly like taking a pick-axe to a hornet's nest. It had garnered the same level of "holy fuck, this only _looked_ like a good idea" and you could never be sure exactly what you had unleashed until it came pouring out in wave after wave of buzzing, winged horrors.

But people like Maggie Sawyer were not allowed to run for cover any longer than it took to get the hose.

Thanks to a little outside pressure from the likes of a rookie reporter named Clark Kent and the implied threat that was Sofia Gigante, the operation's forebrain Kyle Faust had sprung a leak like the faucet at home that Maggie was still wrestling with. He had dropped a wealth of information on everything from the routes to the pushers to the dealers to the drug mules to the storage areas. Essentially, he had upended the entire operation within the afternoon of his interrogation. Police had been scattered across the city since then, brandishing warrants to make raids and busts and bringing the city's largest organized drug operation to its knees.

It had been a good four weeks since then. Plenty of positive press for the police and Mayor Novak's proposed drug-busting policies had started looking better. The _Daily Planet_ had never been more complimentary.

But lord, some of the things Maggie had laid eyes on in the last two weeks alone made her wish they were suppressing more information than usual.

One of Forebrain Faust's tips had led them to the quiet suburban neighborhood of Galliwood, where untowards things weren't supposed to happen. Not in quiet green neighborhoods where the most interesting thing was Mr. 4238 Pleasant Street going out to check his mail in nothing but his birthday suit regardless of what the weather looked like right that moment, his nads always swaying in the breeze. And it wasn't even interesting anymore because it happened every day.

This Monday morning, however, the neighborhood of Galliwood had woken up to the police crashing through the door of a typical ranch house. It had been one of the storage houses for the meth supply and the guards had gotten enterprising, mixing the product with god knew what and shooting up small children to see what the effect was. Two of the kids were definitely going to be alright, after a fashion, and the oldest one might even get his sight back once the swelling went down on his face.

Maggie preferred to think of it like that - _-_ in the more positive light. It was better to say that two of the kids had survived, rather than say that five of them were dead. It kept her sane when she had to deal with shit like that and worthless excuses for human life like the guards.

"I hate the ones where kids are involved." she commented out loud, just to break the heavy silence in the car. "The two we hit where the kids were mules were bad enough. I didn't think it would get worse than that."

Turpin grunted, a grumbly sound that easily encompassed the varied range of _'I'm not talking to you'_. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the passing scenery.

"Are you still mad at me?" Maggie asked.

Since she was wearing sunglasses, she felt safe enough to roll her eyes, especially when her partner just grunted again. It was a deeper, more incensed sound that was _almost_ words. The closest that one could get to speaking without actually saying anything coherent.

It was a sound that Maggie had become very familiar with in the last few weeks, since she and Turpin had gotten into a bit of a bitch-slapping fight instigated by a miscommunication. Turpin handled things by trying to avoid them or not confronting or just seeming to do everything he could to step out of the very thing that involved him. It was the strangest thing Maggie had ever seen from the dedicated detective. In the line of duty, he never avoided a thing. Instead, he charged headlong into the mess, determined to solve it through sheer willpower.

His avoidance behavior in regards to their argument was very off-putting and uncharacteristic.

"I'd order you to stop being mad at me, if I thought it would work." Maggie said. "Dan, we cannot be fighting like this. We're the leaders, the team captains. We have to look like a united front. We had an argument; a lot of people do. But we can't let it affect our professional performance."

She wanted to add that they had also been working together for three years. They had reached a point where it wasn't weird to go out for drinks or dinner after they were off shift. Dan Turpin was the first friend she had made after transferring to Metropolis and she didn't want to shred that over something they could talk about.

"I don't want to get into this right now." Turpin said, never taking his eyes off the window. "I'm still nursing the grudge."

"And how long are you going to coddle it?" Maggie wondered. He had been holding a stony silence against her for three weeks now and part of her couldn't blame him for reacting the way he had. But how long could he drag it out?

"Until I don't like it anymore."

"Okay then..."

Then it could be a while. Turpin was not the sort to forgive and forget very easily, as Maggie had learned over the past three years. He had the personality of a bulldog and the temperment of a volcano. The rookies called him "Turpin the Terrible" or variations thereof. Maggie knew that when the rookies referred to you with that sort of nickname, you could be sure that you were doing something right.

The only terrible thing that she had ever seen about the detective were his eyebrows. Good lord, she hadn't known until she'd met him that eyebrows **could** resemble Einstein's hair.

Turpin was everything a good cop needed to be. He wasn't a model cop, but one could make the argument that there was no such thing, given the way the law ran. He upheld the ideals of protecting and serving the public trust, holding himself accountable and expecting the same of others, never betraying his badge, and so on. He would never compromise his morals unless it was for a _very good_ reason and it would still have to be the world coming to an end before Maggie would consider asking such a thing from him. Turpin's best trait was that he was loyal. Even if for some dastardly reason that their friendship never recovered, she could still count on him to be at her right hand in a pinch.

But she would miss the three a.m. food runs to Big Belly Burger.

Maggie hung the next left to the Gerald D. Ordway Memorial Bridge and back to Downtown, and tried to ignore the uncomfortable stillness.

She was the head of the Metropolis P.D. Special Crimes Unit, ever since she had transferred from Star City. They had taken one look at her record and decided that she fit the mold they were looking for and then put her in command of some rather odd people. She was still trying to figure out what kind of "mold" they'd been talking about.

The SCU was largely responsible for responding to terrorists and bomb threats, anything that included espionage and threatened the internal well-being of Metropolis. As well as anything else that was classed as "Code Veitch" - _-_ which was basically the short-hand way of saying "This shit is so weird there's really no appropriate adjectives for it and I won't tie up the radio trying to describe something the English language has no words for". When the _weird_ stuff cropped up, it was the SCU who was sent to the scene.

But in Metropolis, not much _weird_ stuff happened. So they were handed more of the mundane-in-comparison bomb threats and drug busts, because VICE was understaffed and overworked trying to put out the red lights in Metrodale.

Maggie parked the car in the lot behind the SCU building, once the local court-house until the Metropolis city council decided that it was too small to stay in use as a court-house. It was Greek revival architecture and three floors tall, though the SCU had only needed one floor. One and a half, really. The floors were marble, the dome above the main concourse was stain-glass and did pretty things to the interior during the noon hour, and there was a statue of Lady Justice that had been too heavy to move.

The building sort of lurked between the Major Crimes Unit and the forensics labs. Both of the neighboring buildings tended to sprawl, as there was quite a lot associated with both units and they needed the growing room. Sometimes the SCU felt like the squat, dumpy step-sister whose intelligence was questionable and was usually caught picking her nose in every family photograph.

That wasn't to say that the SCU was a joke department or its staff was untrained and incompetent. The SCU actually had some highly-skilled individuals on staff, to balance out those who didn't have a specialized skill, but had more than enough pluck and grit to make up for it. But there were days when Maggie couldn't shake the feeling that they were being toyed with, especially when smart-ass beat cops sent them reports from people who had claimed to see ghosts or asked her if they had solved the mystery of the Loch Ness Monster yet.

Sometimes, they got the stupid stuff.

The main rotunda was the nerve center of the SCU. There was barely a dozen of them, so there was no point in having them spread out to the empty offices. They occupied half-wall cubicles instead with an appropriate number of shelves and filing cabinets that they were free to decorate. They didn't have a day-shift or a night-shift, so its members were in and out of the building at all hours of the day and night. Some kept a change of clothes at their desks, slept in the lounge, and took showers in the locker room, and only remembered to go home when it occurred to them that the laundry needed doing, the plants were turning brown, and the milk needed to be removed from the fridge before it grew a brain-stem, or they needed to keep up the pretense that they were actually _living_ there and not just storing things there.

Maggie had barely stepped through the double doors from the front foyer before she was intercepted by Officer Colletta Kanigher, who made up roughly ninety percent of the pluck and grit in the SCU.

"Lieutenant Sawyer, this government agent busted in here and he won't leave, not until he talks to you." she reported.

Maggie groaned; she had been awake and conscious nearly twenty hours now. Frankly, she had been looking forward to some quality time with a soft surface and it didn't particularly matter if it was a couch, a bed, or her girlfriend, which ever was more readily available by the time she got home. She just didn't want to deal with any more people today.

"Who is he, what does he want, and can it be wrapped up quickly?" the lieutenant asked.

"Agent Jason Trask, he wouldn't tell me, and it didn't sound like it." Colletta replied, offering a sympathetic smile. "He's waiting in your office."

"Thank you, Kanigher." Maggie nodded. She looked down at her clothes, searching for crumbs or coffee stains that might make her look less than professional. "Do I look presentable?"

Colletta shrugged. "You don't look awful." she said. "I don't think he'll care anyways. He looks like the sort of guy who'd poke out his own eyes just to prove a point."

"You let him in?"

"We couldn't keep him _out_."

Then he sounded like _that_ sort of government type; the entitled asshole who believed his authority was synonymous with the size of his penis and just as effective as rapier, but was unaware that it was completely useless.

"Thanks for the warning, Kanigher." Maggie patted her shoulder as she passed. "If you've been here longer than twelve hours, go home for a few hours."

"I haven't been here that long." Colletta said protestingly.

"Go home." the lieutenant repeated. "I shouldn't have to order you."

She was heading to her office, so she didn't see Colletta make a face at her back. But Maggie knew well enough that Colletta had put in twelve hours already, because she always tried to downplay the number of hours she'd been present when they surpassed ten. It was a bad habit of hers, but Maggie felt there was plenty of time still to break her of it.

Just as she had been warned, her office wasn't empty. Behind her desk, in her chair, was government agent Jason Trask. He was probably handsome with his dark hair and blue-gray eyes, if Maggie was into men. But he had the kind of face was easily given to sneering and then there was fact he was _in her chair_. Everyone one knew that you weren't supposed to sit in the boss's chair, no matter who you were or what your rank was; even the commissioner didn't sit in her chair unless she had given him permission. He was leafing through one of her files and sucking on a cigarette, puffing out gray-white smoke with every breath.

"This is a smoke-free zone." Maggie announced, closing her office door loudly. "Put it out or I'll have you fined for violating the basic human right to breathe clean air."

Trask turned and gave a remarkably sleazy and wholly unprofessional smile around his cigarette. There was no mistaking it when his eyes darted between her chest and her hips before finally moving up to her face.

"I wasn't expecting someone so shapely." he said. "Is your boss coming soon?"

"I **am** the boss." Maggie said. "Lieutenant Sawyer. Didn't you see the name on the door? I honestly haven't met a man who calls himself 'Margaret'." She crossed her arms. "What do you want?"

"To talk to the man in charge, sugar bumps." Trask said. He made a shooing motion. "So do me a favor and get him for me, okay? I can't talk to a woman about this."

He lowered his cigarette and blew a cloud of toxic smoke in her direction. Maggie held her breath until it had dissipated and bit down on a flare of anger and the urge to reach for her gun and empty a clip into his head. There were laws against shooting the people who annoyed you and the government wouldn't be too happy if she shot one of their agents.

Even if he was a self-entitled prick who didn't have the required number of brain cells to comprehend the fact that women were human beings.

Honestly, why did government agents always seem to be chain-smoking sleaze-bags who weren't capable of drumming up basic respect for others but still expected it? Was it a law or something? A hiring requirement? Did they have to take a test that measured how big of an asshole they were? Was it just something that developed over time, as the idea of working for all-powerful agency went to their heads? Or did she attract them? Like they could smell the lesbian in her and decided that they were enough of a stud-muffin that she would "change her mind".

Why couldn't she meet the professional government agents who kept their hands and their leers to themselves and didn't act like inflated douchebags?

Why couldn't she meet the government agents were women, at least?

She opened up the door and stepped out into the hallway.

"Can I get someone in my office who speaks sexist pig?" she called across the main room. "I'm having a hard time translating the squealing and grunting into proper English. And a glass of water in here too!"

Turpin stood up from his desk, straightened his tie, and smoothed down his ruffled suit jacket as best he could. After nearly a full day on the job, he was going to look a touch untidy no matter what he did to fix it.

Maggie nearly told him to go back to his desk and finish his report so he could go home. He had been on shift for closer to twenty-four hours and he had to be _exhausted_ from running on catnaps and coffee. But she knew it would be pointless. That was just how Turpin's loyalty worked. Even though they were on the outs with their friendship, he would still be the first person to come running to her aid.

One of their detectives, John Jones, stood up as well. He was a tall black man with a shiny bald head and a heavy brow. He followed Turpin about halfway across the room and paused by the water cooler to fill up one of the little plastic cups. Then he resumed his walk to the office.

"Here." He offered her the cup.

"Thank you, Detective Jones." Maggie stood to one side. "Why don't you come inside?"

Turpin was there as a show of solidarity, standing beside his commander, and because Trask probably wouldn't talk to anyone but a white male. But Jones was a good luck charm. He had an uncanny knack for spotting lies and knowing when someone was untrustworthy. When dealing with a government agent who'd left a bad taste in her mouth from the get-go, she wanted someone like Jones in the room.

Some days, Maggie swore that he could read minds.

At Turpin's entrance, Trask sat up and his expression shifted into one of satisfaction. Maggie didn't give it long to blossom. Giving in to the irrational urge to smack his ego down, to impress upon him that he was not in charge around here, she grabbed the cigarette from his mouth and shoved it into the water, extinguishing it with a tiny hiss.

"This is a federal building. Smoking is not permitted on the premises, as per Metropolis city law." Maggie said coolly, dropping the cup into the waste bin. "Further violation will result in a one hundred and fifty dollar fine and confiscation of your cigarettes and lighter. You will not get them back."

Trask gave her a dirty look like she had just completely overstepped every boundary she wasn't allowed to cross. The look of a man who saw that an unworthy woman was exercising a level of authority she wasn't even supposed to know about.

Maggie squelched the equally powerful urge to _force-feed_ him the soggy cigarette.

A little behind her, Jones made a throat-clearing noise that no one would have mistaken for a laugh, but that was definitely what it was. Turpin's usual smirk flickered into existence for a second before he smothered it back into a smooth professional mask that didn't give much away. Maggie turned back to the visitor and crossed her arms.

"What can we do for you today, Mr. Trask?" she asked.

Trask's expression of displeasure deepened to really ugly depths. Then he straightened the whole thing out into something coldly professional and took an envelope out of his pocket.

"I'll get right to business, Miss Sawyer," he started, professional but nonetheless still oozing blatant disrespect. "I'm searching for two fugitives, one of whom I believe is hiding out here in Metropolis. This letter I have is from the state-house. It grants me the authority to utilize the resources available to the Special Crimes Unit-"

"I'm sorry, you haven't quite introduced yourself." Maggie interrupted. "The only reason I know your name is because Officer Kanigher told me. Let's do introductions first." She cleared her throat. "I'm Lieutenant Maggie Sawyer, head of the Special Crimes Unit. This is Detective Dan Turpin, my second in command. This is Detective John Jones, who doubles as a lie-detector in the absence of a polygraph."

She wanted to put that one out there, just in case the agent thought he could get away funny business. Jones's lie-detection abilities were really spot on and they never seemed to fail him either. He had an accuracy rate of ninety-five percent and that wasn't a generous estimate. It was actually more like ninety-nine percent, but ninety-five percent gave him a little more wiggle room in the event he got it wrong.

Which was rare, truly.

Trask stood up slowly, obviously thinking his height would better exert his superiority.

"Agent Jason Trask, of Bureau 39." he said.

"I haven't heard of them." Maggie said. "Is there a number I can call? I'd like you speak to your superior, to verify your claim."

Trask laughed, a condescending little chuckle. "Miss Sawyer, I **am** the superior. I'm the director of Bureau 39." he assured her.

"I'm sure that you'll understand if I don't believe you." Maggie said. "Normally, in the past interactions I've had with government agents, they've had the courtesy to call ahead and provide verification in regards to their identity. At the very least, I see a badge."

Trask made an 'ah' face and started digging around in his pockets. While he was doing this, Maggie looked over at Jones, silently asking if the agent was telling the truth. To her dismay and annoyance, Jones nodded.

 _Crap, there's no getting rid of him now._ Maggie realized. _So much for getting home before lunch._

Trask found his badge and displayed it to them.

"As for why you've never heard of us before, that's not a surprise." he went on. "We're an extra-governmental department who deals with the things the government can't afford to be associated with."

"Wetworks." Turpin commented.

Trask tilted his head. "Something like that." he said evasively. "As I was saying, this letter grants me the authority to utilize the resources available to the Special Crimes Unit- _-_ "

"To find two fugitives?" Maggie interrupted again. This wasn't adding up and she had barely heard any of it. That was rarely a good sign.

"They are very dangerous fugitives." Trask told her. "We've been tracking them for over six years now and we've finally managed to trace one of them to Metropolis. I'm positive the other will follow in time."

"And you want to use the SCU as your personal hit squad?" Maggie asked. She was getting that sense from his pompous asshole routine. She shook her head. "No, I won't allow it, no matter which branch of the government you're from. We're understaffed as it is. We can't afford to give up anyone for any reason."

"Your opinion on the matter isn't valid, Miss Sawyer-" Trask started.

"Lieutenant!" Turpin corrected sharply, shooting a rather deathly glare at the agent. His wild, wiry eyebrows only amplified the evil eye effect.

The agent raised an eyebrow of his own. "Pardon?"

" _Lieutenant_ Sawyer." Turpin repeated, a very bulldog-like growl in his voice. "You're speaking to Lieutenant Sawyer, head of the Special Crimes Unit, Agent Trask. Treat her with the respect due."

Trask proceeded to make a face like he couldn't believe such a thing was being asked of him.

"As I was saying, _Lieutenant_ ," He sneered all over the title, making it clear he didn't believe Maggie had done anything to earn it. "This letter grants me authority over _you._ " He pointed to the notarized stamp in the corner. "According to the state-house, I am in temporary command of the Metropolis P.D. Special Crimes Unit until such a time that it's no longer necessary. So you can whine and bitch about me using the SCU as my personal hit-squad, but the truth of it is that you're not being given a choice in the matter. Is that clear?"

"Only unless you can explain to me why you didn't go to Major Crimes or Criminal Investigations." Maggie said. She was not going to have control wrested away from her by a tiny-dicked douchebag without good reason.

"Because the SCU receives most of its intelligence from every department. As I understand it, you're the melting pot of the police force." Trask pointed out.

 _Dammit, that's actually a pretty good reason._ Maggie cursed. Since they usually got the weird stuff, they had to collect the pieces of evidence from every department, waiting for all the little things to stack up into a larger picture and hoping it made sense. It was like putting together a puzzle when they had to go on a scavenger hunt for the pieces. If the agent really was hunting for two fugitives, working out of Special Crimes would ensure that he had access to all the information he needed.

"So, you'll be turning over authority to me and obeying my orders." Trask said. "If you'll address me as 'Agent Trask', I'm sure we'll get along nicely."

 _No we won't_. Maggie thought. What she said was: "Tell us about these fugitives."

Trask smiled, a mockery of the smile of a proud father might have given his daughter. On his face, it was the kind of smile that said: _'gosh you're cute when you think you're in charge.'_ He opened his mouth to speak, but then had a thought.

"No, there's something you need to see, first." he said. "If you're going to understand exactly what I've been dealing with, there's something you need to see. Come on."

He made a 'follow me' motion and walked out of the office. Turpin shot a look at his commanding officer, but Maggie could only shrug. She had skimmed the letter while Trask had been brandishing it and it was pretty airtight with its wording. The SCU was under the command of Agent Jason Trask of Bureau 39 for the however long it took for him to apprehend the fugitives. However, the legalese didn't imply an imposed time limit, which mean Trask might command the SCU indefinitely. Capturing fugitives was no small task and if Trask's pair had stayed on the run for over six years, they weren't going to come in quietly.

"Let's go." Maggie told her two detectives. "He thinks he's in charge, so let's humor him."

"That man does not have a sense of humor." Jones commented.

"Men like him don't have any emotions except 'smug'." Turpin said, crossing his arms. "I don't like him, Maggie."

"That makes two of us, Dan." Maggie said, really trying smother her delight that Turpin was addressing her by her first name. It suggested that their friendship wasn't as out as she was imagining.

In the main concourse, she looked around for her third-in-command, Sergeant Escudero (whose name was a bit longer than that, but Sergeant Leocadio-Escudero was sort of mouthful when you were trying to be expedient). But the sergeant appeared to have vanished in the meantime.

"Sergeant Kesel! I've got to step out for a moment! Keep an eye on things in here!" Maggie ordered, turning to her next highest-ranked, Margaret "Midge" Kesel, who popped off a tired salute. "Officer Kanigher! With me!"

Colletta promptly dropped what she was doing (picking up her coat, logging out of her computer) and hurried over to join them. No doubt Trask noticed, but he didn't say anything. He led the group across the concourse to the stairs. They were actually on the second floor. Back in the day, only the second and third floor had been immediately available to the public. Once full of offices, the ground floor been converted half into record-keeping and half into an employee only area; the private cafeteria remodeled into the lounge, the locker rooms which had existed since the first World War, and a room full of work-out equipment donated by a gym for when the officers needed to punch something or sweat it out (and the janitorial supply closet, furnace room and boiler, of course).

This was also the only internal entrance to the attached evidence warehouse.

"What's going on, Lieutenant?" Colletta asked in a whisper.

"Agent Trask has a letter from the state-house giving him the authority to command the SCU in order to track down two fugitives, one of whom he believes is in Metropolis." Maggie explained.

Colletta blinked. "Wait, they actually give stuff like that to mouth-breathing douche-weeds like him? They actually let him be in charge of _anything_?"

She made a face similar to the one Agent Trask had worn while he'd been assimilating the idea of a woman being in charge, but the disgust was a great deal more pronounced.

"What did he say to you?" the lieutenant asked. Colletta was generally very nice and sweet-tempered, but she wasn't shy about expressing herself when she was angry.

"He called me fat. _And_ ugly. _While_ leering at me like I'm a cupcake." Colletta replied, scowling. She patted her fairly flat stomach. "This is not _fat_. I work hard for my girl abs! I look _good_!"

Maggie couldn't help but nod in agreement. While Colletta was not her type and Maggie herself was already in a relationship that was leaning towards semi-committed, there was no way she could deny that Colletta really was a shapely, lovely lady. A moderate waist-line offset by generous hips and ample breasts; a true hour-glass figure that Colletta worked vigorously to keep in functional condition because she just couldn't give up her love of candy and chocolate. So she was going rounds with the weight machines every day, but she was earning that muscle.

"He's sexist. Ignore him." Maggie advised, keeping her voice low.

Colletta seethed. "Oh, I will. I won't even notice he's there."

When they stepped into the evidence warehouse in Agent Trask's wake, it became very clear to Maggie that the agent would have cowbird'd his way in regardless of her knowledge. Showing up in her office had been nothing more than a formality, an opportunity to gloat. At the backside of the warehouse where the garage doors opened on to the street, where the larger items were kept, were scattered two dozen men (all men, Maggie didn't see a single woman among them and suddenly she felt progressive for half her staff being women even if there were only about dozen people in the entire SCU) standing in a loose formation around two tarp-covered... things. Whatever they were, they were huge, something like ten feet in diameter.

Without giving the three SCU members much chance to gawk, Trask ordered the removal of the large gray tarps. Several of the man broke ranks and heaved the tarps off. They were heavy and the men struggled for a moment and Maggie had enough time to think that between her and Colletta, they would probably get the tarps off much faster. The thick gray plastic hit the cement floor with a remarkably loud sound, but it was nothing compared to the silence that followed.

Behind Maggie, Jones made some kind of choking noise, Turpin swore loudly, and Colletta gaped soundlessly.

Trask beamed smugly.

Under those tarps was easily nothing Maggie had ever seen in her life. They were... crafts. Ships, of some varieties.

The first craft was gleaming white like a piece of milky quartz. It had an elongated shape, sleek and fast-looking with a central pod that was about four feet long but only two feet wide. Its near-identical twin was more amber gray, like cut smoky quartz and its pod was much more spherical. Both featured three gimbals around their central pods, likes that of a gyroscope to control the roll, the pitch, and the yaw. And Maggie realized with a jolt that the gimbals _weren't attached to anything_. Not even each other. They didn't float around the pods. They were suspended around it without so much as a wobble. Sprouting from the back of the pods were conical spikes that curved towards each other like claws.

Oh god, they were engines.

And neither craft was even _touching the ground_.

 _UFOs!_ Chirped a hysterical voice in the back of her mind.

Maggie didn't even realize she was listing in shock when she felt Turpin's broad hand press between her shoulder blades, to try and steady her.

 _There is no way I'm staring at a pair of UFOs. They don't look like UFOs!_

"As you can see," Trask started, his grin rather shit-eating. "Our fugitives aren't from around here."

"And by 'here', I'm starting to assume that you mean this planet." Maggie said, her eyes searching the things for... for anything. She didn't even know what she was looking for.

Distantly, she contemplated the idea that Agent Trask was professionally insane and at the crafts were extremely clever hoaxes and the state-house was just having her on. But... There was something that she couldn't put her finger on. Something incredibly alien about both crafts that just screamed, in a very quiet way, that they weren't from Earth.

There was something quite odd about them. It was like her eyes wanted to slide to one side, like they didn't want to look directly at either ship. She wasn't sure if that was an effect being generated by the ships themselves, or if it was her brain messing with her perceptions like... Like the Uncanny Valley effect. Where it was familiar enough, but at the same time, it was also intrinsically _wrong_.

"I don't think they're even from this solar system." Trask nodded. "Both of the crafts were recovered at the same time in the same place, but this one," He patted the exterior gimbal, the one to specifically for yaw, of the white quartz ship. "Has been on the planet for far longer."

Turpin laughed harshly.

"That's damn ridiculous because aliens don't exist!" he declared in open defiance. "These 'ships' aren't proof! Wires! Hoaxes! Really clever models." He strode up into Trask's face. "Buddy, I'm a cop. I have seen some shit- _-_ "

" _You haven't see what I've seen!_ " Trask roared, his expression suddenly becoming quite unhinged and bellowing at such a volume that even the men standing four feet away reeled back. His eyes bulged madly, a vein throbbed in his temple, and spittle flew from his lips when he started shouting again.

"I saw hundreds of tons of space rock fall from the sky! I watched Prometheus himself bring fire down from the heavens! The power! The strength! He was not a man! He could level mountains with flick of his finger! Turn the earth off its axis! And he's not from this planet! You haven't seen what I've seen, little man! He and his kind cannot run around unchecked! They must be captured and destroyed!"

Trask breathed out heavily and sucked in an equally forceful breath. His eyes danced around from Maggie to Colletta to Jones and glared at each of them, as if he was daring them to make a comment and challenge him again.

It was Jones's hand that pressed into Maggie's back this time, on her shoulder blade. It had taken them a little while to develop a few silent, discreet gestures to communicate by - _-_ but the left hand on her right shoulder, only the middle two fingers exerting pressure - _-_ that meant 'danger(ous) be careful'.

"Okay..." Turpin raised his hands compliantly and took a step back, eyes wide under his bushy brows. "That sounds... pretty serious."

"It does." Maggie agreed, stepping forward until she was level with her second-in-command. "Agent Trask, what can we do to help? I assume you have an idea as to where to find your fugitives?"

"Only one of them, for now. But the other will come running to us in time." Trask snapped his fingers and held out his hand demandingly. One of his men came scurrying up to him and passed him a Diamond tablet. Trask, in turn, handed Maggie the tablet to show her the image on the screen.

"This is the 'man' we're looking for. And I promise you that's only a disguise. His true form is..."

He trailed off, as though he had no words to describe, but that also might have been because Colletta hurried up beside her commanding officer with an astounded expression and pointed at the image.

"He's not alien! He's a reporter with the _Daily Planet_!" she complained. She scowled at Trask. "Where'd you get the idea that Clark Kent is an alien?"

"Kanigher- _-_ " Maggie began a reprimand, but that was all she got in before the government agent jolted like he had been hit with electricity. His eyes glitter with a less than sane gleam and he turned smartly on his heel.

"We have our target men! Move out!" he ordered.

The agents had already fallen into formation and were running for the garage doors before Maggie realized that Trask was going to arrest a _news reporter_ (one whom Lois Lane had spoken well of, no less) on the sheer luck of walking out of a fireball alive (for the image was a video still of Clark's heroic rescue of the little girl, caught from the other side when he'd been running out of the fire with his coat tails slightly aflame).

"Wait!" Maggie slapped the tablet into Colletta's arms and ran after the agent. "Wait a minute! You need a warrant!"

"I only need a warrant to arrest a _human_!" Trask told her.

Because his fugitive was not human.

Oh yes, he remembered Clark Kent. His primary suspect; his Prometheus - _-_ though the alien had never truly slipped up enough for Trask to prove it. And those poor adults, that married couple who so whole-heartedly believed that they had raised a normal little human boy. He had never been able to show them they their "son" was an alien invader.

But now, Trask would prove it. He would expose Prometheus for the invader that he was and show the world that they were under threat from beyond the stars. They would see that there was an aggressive alien race out there seeking to destroy them. They would learn that the advance scouts were already here, studying them, learning their culture, learning how to destroy them.

And he would stop that alien army dead in its tracks.

* * *

-0-


	14. Stuck in Between

I'm (not) sorry for the long delay, but I had to go medieval on chapter 14. The original ending of it was just fuck awful and I would have been ashamed of myself to let it out into the wild in its original version. It took entirely too long.

Also got caught up in a necessary bout of spring cleaning. Either I need a more powerful vacuum or all that cat hair is just never coming out of my bedroom carpet.

* * *

Chapter Fourteen: Stuck in Between

Clark was starting to feel like he had set a record, however accidentally.

Lois Lane was too crazy and no one stuck with her for very long. Rookie reporters made to shadow her ducked out before the end of the first day and sometimes tried to make it through the second, but a week was rare. Photographers were gone in less than three weeks, unwilling to follow her over fences and past security cameras. If they didn't run away on their own, it was Lois's abrasive and determined personality that often scared them away just the same.

But here was Clark, starting his fifth week at the _Daily Planet_ and still working right alongside Lois like they had been doing it for years. So naturally, everyone was whispering and sharing rumors over exactly what kind of relationship they had. And the bobbing eyebrows from Lombarde told Clark that the "athletic relations" rumor - _-_ of Clark Kent bedding the Mad Dog and living to see sunrise - _-_ had in no way died.

And probably wouldn't. Not with the way she perched on the corner of his desk that morning with the research on Sofia Gigante, showing a decidedly large amount of bare leg thanks to her usual attire of short skirts and business blazers.

Very nice bare leg, nonetheless. Definitely sleek.

"You do running." Clark observed, staring contemplatively at the lower half of her thigh. Regular running did have a noticeable effect on the quadriceps.

Lois blinked. "I swear to god, Smallville, you're the first person who's actually commented on _just_ that." she said, almost sounding relieved.

Of course, her response would have been a little more annoyed if she'd known that Clark was thinking about a little more than just her leg musculature and the slimming effect her work-out routine had.

Her legs looked really _soft_.

"So, do you run?" Clark asked.

"Yeah, I run a mile and a half on the weekends." Lois nodded. "I'd go running more often, but the schedule around here is murder sometimes. Fifty chin-ups is quicker to crank out in the morning between making my bed and eating breakfast. I bike into work during the spring and summer. Easier to do it when it's not colder than a well-digger's ass-crack out there. Didn't you tell me the other day that you were still looking for a couch?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, I'm still looking." Clark nodded. His apartment was largely furnished by now and he had a nice armchair and one of those little loveseat sofas. He had a king-sized bed and an excellent writing desk. But he really wanted a proper couch, one that was long enough and wide enough to accommodate him. "Why?"

"I've got a pair of those neighbors who practically replace their entire living room every couple of years even if nothing actually needs to be replaced. They've got this great-looking couch up on Greglist, but they can't sell it and then I told them I had a friend who might be interested." she explained. "They're only asking three hundred for it and they don't mind installment payments."

"I'll swing by on the weekend."

"Do you even know where I live?"

Clark almost didn't hear the entourage that trooped into the newsroom, combat boots thudding on the floor, until the excess number of heartbeats caught his attention and the yelps of surprise made him jolt in fear.

Two dozen men had stormed in, dressed in battle fatigues and tactical vests, openly carrying assault rifles. Most of them looked grim. One of them was grinning downright sadistically. Another looked like he didn't want to be here.

"Clark Kent!"

The voice itself was not one that Clark had heard in something like seven years and it was the familiarity of it that scared him more than what was bellowed next.

"You're to be executed immediately for crimes against Planet Earth!" Agent Trask declared.

What happened next in the newsroom couldn't be adequately described as Hell breaking loose, but more like some of the plugs had popped out of Hell's retaining wall. The reporters had only been momentarily paralyzed by the heavily armed men barging in, but the second that Agent Trask had announced his intention to execute one of their own, they jumped out of their chairs and started shouting furiously, crowding the most direct path to Clark's desk.

"Get out of the way!" Trask bellowed.

But there was no retreating motion to the crowd's movement. Rather, they pressed forward. Wary of the guns, but forward nonetheless in the way only go-get-'em reporters could. Half of them were holding notepads and doing what they did best: Asking questions.

Clark would have been amused by the sight, had it not been for Agent Trask pushing his way past Lombarde to get at new rookie reporter.

"Who the fuck is that?" Lois demanded, hopping off the desk.

A snarl graced her expression for a brief moment and its appearance was startling; the things it did to her face. Clark had only seen her grinning and looking fairly pleasant all the time he had known her. Friendly, though maybe a little sneering at times. But not that snarl of anger like her entire ancestral lineage and personal pride had been defiled. She was clenching a pen in her fist and Clark had the sudden feeling that she could and _would_ try to violently injure someone with that pen.

"Ms. Lane..." Clark started, worried that she would get into it with Trask. He was a dirty fighter, with no qualms about what he used or who his opponent was. And he was skilled. Clark wasn't sure if the smaller woman would stand a chance.

"I've got this. Stay back." Lois ordered.

Clark gritted his teeth. "Ms. Lane..."

"There you are!" Trask exclaimed triumphantly, having made his way past the muscle-bound sports columnist and only because his right-hand man was shoving the barrel of his rifle into Lombarde's kidney and Lombarde wasn't fool enough to start something with an assault rifle.

Lois planted her feet and took up position in front of Clark. It was like the tiny, territorial Shih Tzu against the angry mastiff and you had the feeling that the Shih Tzu would win through sheer determination.

"Don't take another step!" Lois ordered, stabbing her pen at the agent.

Trask blinked. "Who are you?" he sneered. He shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Get out of the way."

"I don't think so." Lois said stubbornly. "I'm the coworker who is not going to move. Who the fuck do you think you are, busting in here with _Beretta assault rifles_ that I have never seen outside of a military base! Screaming that you're going to execute some random farm boy from Kansas?! Where do you get off with that attitude, _buddy_?!"

Clark had to admit that he had never heard the word 'buddy' sound so threatening before.

"This is a newsroom!" Lois shouted, pointing at the floor with her pen. "What are you doing bringing guns into a fucking newsroom! Those are Beretta AR 70/90s! Who do you think you're going to be shooting?!"

"I said get out of the way, missy." Trask ordered. "I only want to waste one bullet today and it's not going to be on you."

Lois crossed her arms and stood her ground.

"Agent Trask, this is ridiculous!" Clark put in, unable to make himself stay silent in the face of a man who had spent five months harassing his friends and family. "I thought we had this settled seven years ago!"

"You tricked everyone!" Trask shouted, jabbing a finger at him. "The only reason I let you walk seven years ago is because no one was convinced, but I know what you are! I've seen what you do! You'll never be able to hide that from me!"

"You're the one bringing guns into a newspaper room!" Lois pointed out. "For the matter, who the hell are you!?"

"Get out of my way, you little bitch!" Trask roared.

"What in blue blazes is going on in here?!" Perry bellowed sonorously, finally summoned out of his office by the shouting. He stormed forward, his bulk parting the crowd like Moses had parted the Red Sea.

No one immediately jumped to tell him what the situation was - _-_ they weren't quite sure themselves, honestly. But the editor could suss it out for himself. His eyes skimmed over the assembled heads of his reporters and landed on the reddened face of Agent Trask, standing in the middle of it all and trying to tower imperiously over an uncowed Lois.

"Who are you and why are you bringing guns into _my_ newsroom?! Why are you threatening my reporters?!" Perry demanded, stomping over in such a fury that Clark actually felt the man's footsteps shake the floor. "Somebody tell me what the devil is going on in here!"

"Are you in charge around here?" Trask asked, turning to face the new arrival.

"I'm the editor. Who are you?" Perry demanded again, wedging himself in between Lois and the government agent. He was taller than Lois and more broad all around. Clark had a feeling that very few physical things got past Perry White when he was determined to hold his ground.

"Then you're under arrest." Trask declared firmly. "For harboring an alien fugitive as well as treasonous actions against the United States and her interests- _-_ "

"That didn't answer my question!" Perry shouted, bristling and appearing to grow several inches in the process. "This is a newsroom! Those are guns! You're standing in a newsroom with guns screaming about arresting me and my reporters for- _-_ what was that again?"

"Harboring an alien fugitive- _-_ " Trask started, but Lois busted out laughing.

It was hysterical, largely inappropriate laughter that wasn't suited for a moment like this. The sort of laughter a person gave when they found something so ridiculously hilarious that they couldn't not laugh.

"Alien fugitive?" she repeated incredulously. "You think Clark Kent's an illegal immigrant? Get over yourself, tin soldier! He's Kansas born and bred!"

"Yeah, that's right!" Lombarde agreed suddenly, throwing his thick arm around Clark's shoulders. "You should read his farm reports! He knows that shit better than any of us! He could tell you all about running a farm!"

Clark wanted to tell the sports columnist that farm reports really weren't about that. It was usually about the weather around planting and harvesting days, advancements in the equipment needed to run a farm, soil content and fertilizer and such, and maybe tips to get a higher produce yield. It was generally accepted that if you were a farmer, then you already knew how to run a farm.

But he didn't say anything. For as sweaty and unpleasant Lombarde often smelled, having his bulk in the way and his support might help to deter Trask from following through his with vendetta on the spot.

Clark didn't want to get shot at in front of everyone. Bullets didn't work. Not on him. His skin was bullet-proof. And it would only serve to prove that Trask wasn't just spewing nonsense out of his mouth.

It wasn't like Clark actually _was_ from this planet.

"I've got a copy of his birth certificate or..." Perry thought for a moment, because it wasn't a birth certificate, strictly speaking. "Whatever paperwork validates him as a citizen of the United States. I have a copy. Believe me, I wouldn't have hired him if he didn't have proper documentation. Now _who are you_?!"

If Trask intended to answer (which seemed very unlikely, considering that it had taken Clark over three weeks to even learn the agent's last name), he didn't get the chance when another dozen footsteps pounded into the newsroom. This group of people was led by a woman with short cut blonde hair, wearing black slacks and a long brown coat. Clark recognized one of the men in the group as Detective Dan Turpin. They had kept in touch the last few weeks, as the detective had kept Clark updated on the progress of Faust's court case and if Clark would need to be present at the trial.

Indeed, all of the new arrivals had a police badge gleaming from their belt loops or their coat lapels.

"Met P.D.! Agent Jason Trask, stand down now!" the woman ordered. She had one hand on her gun, ready to draw it if necessary.

That was the head of the SCU, if Clark remembered correctly. What was her name again... Something Sawyer? It had been a very fleeting introduction.

Trask chuckled. "Miss Sawyer, do we have to go over it again? I'm in charge- _-_ "

"You're overreacting!" Lieutenant Sawyer told him, striding forward through the crowd of reporters and government agents. "You might have the state's permission, but there are procedures to follow and laws to obey. You just don't get to storm the _Daily Planet_ with assault rifles! This is a place of business! You've chosen to work out of the SCU, meaning you're beholden to city law!"

"Exactly!" Lois agreed. She thrust out her hand demandingly. "Let me the see the warrant you have for Clark's arrest!"

For a second, Trask looked to be at a loss. He proceeded to produce nothing of the sort. No warrant. He had charged in, expecting that no one would get in his way. He hadn't even bothered to introduce himself, much less actually explain what he was doing here.

"That's what I thought!" Lois grinned her Grinchy smile. It looked singularly disturbing. "Believe it or not, you can't arrest solely on suspicions, not without probable cause, at least, and from where I'm standing, there isn't any. You need a warrant. Then you need to tell them- _-_ that is, you need to tell Clark what he's being charged with. Then you Mirandize him and he is to be duly tried in a respectable court of law with all the evidence you can gather that suggests his wrong-doing while the appointed jury determines whether or not he is innocent. All that needs to happen before you can even _think_ about the idea of execution! Furthermore, capital punishment was abolished in this state in 1846 - _-_ and made unconstitutional even when the crime is treason in 1963 - _-_ meaning you'd probably need to take the case in front of the Supreme Court. But if you can't even produce a warrant, you won't even get him in a holding cell."

She held up her phone.

"One tap of my finger and I'll call my father. There's nothing he hates more than the violation of one's Fifth Amendment rights."

Trask snorted. "Is that supposed to scare me?" he asked.

"I don't know. _Are_ you scared of General Sam Lane of the United States Army?" Lois taunted.

She was going to have to send her father a fruit basket full of figs for being a scary, uncompromising bulldog of a military general who had undergone the simple procedure to get his sense of humor surgically removed, otherwise her name-dropping wouldn't have had nearly as much effect.

At the very least, Trask recognized General Sam Lane and had enough piss-your-pants respect for him to look slightly terrified at the mere idea that Lois had him on speed-dial three. The agent hesitated for a second, using that time to re-think his intended course of action. Then he vetoed making any changes.

"Get the fuck outta my way!" he snapped.

And punched Lois in the jaw.

How his fist made it all the way past Perry's shoulder was something of a mystery. Clark must have blinked if he had missed it. But Trask's knuckles collided with Lois's jaw just the same and Clark felt something in him crack as he lunged to catch Lois before she hit the floor. The only thing he hated more than sleaze-bag men who propositioned unwilling women for sex were men who deliberately struck women. But he put his focus on catching Lois, because if he hauled off and retaliated, Trask's skull would not survive the encounter with his fist.

"Assault! That was assault!" Lois shrieked, slashing her pen at Trask like she was trying to cut his face. She had come up swinging and angrier than before. "Everyone saw that! That was unprovoked assault! I'm pressing charges, Lieutenant Sawyer!"

"Kent! Get yourself and Lois into the conference room!" Perry ordered, pushing them back from the agent. "We'll sort this out!"

"You're not going anywhere!" Trask yelled.

"Stand down, Trask!" Sawyer ordered, clicking off the safety on her firearm. "Stand down or I'll have you taken in to custody!"

"Come on, Ms. Lane." Clark coaxed, tugging her back from the scene. More corks were popping out of the proverbial dam. The longer this stewed, the more likely Hell really was going to break loose.

"No I'm not done yet!" Lois shouted defiantly.

"Yes, you are." Clark picked her up around the waist like a sack of potatoes, ignoring her startled yelp, and just carried her off to the conference room.

"Smallville! Put me down!" she ordered, slapping his arms with the flat of her palms, her legs curled up under her. "This is humiliating! You know that, right? My god, why are you this strong?!"

She was no dainty flower. Five-foot seven and about one-thirty; most of that was muscle. And Clark had lifted her clean off her feet. Her butt was pressed to his- _-_ dear god, that was a rock-solid chest. And the almost delicious pressure of his lovely corded arms around her waist. She could feel the press of his biceps and flexor muscles against her ribcage.

She almost complained when he put her down inside the conference room.

Clark closed the door, shutting out the noise from the newsroom. Perry was shouting, Trask was shouting, it sounded like half the SCU was getting their dander up, and their fellow reporters were getting in on the action again, repeating all the questions Lois had hurled earlier.

"Let me see your face." he requested, beckoning her over.

"It's fine. Just get me some water from the dispenser." Lois requested, rubbing her fingers over the swelling flesh of the cheekbone.

"Will you let me see it first?" Clark asked. He wanted to check her pupils, see if she had any blood in her mouth or if anything was fractured. Trask didn't pull his punches just because it was a woman.

"Stop being such a gentleman." Lois grumbled half-heartedly, but gestured for him to come over.

"I can't. It's the way my parents raised me." Clark admitted, lightly touching the reddened skin. He could already hear the rush of fluid to the area and he could almost see the skin rising.

"Clark Kent the gentleman." Lois murmured. She trembled when his fingers pressed more firmly against the appearing bruise.

"Sorry, that must have hurt." Clark eased the pressure a little and the dark-haired woman shrugged.

Oh, it had hurt, but it wasn't the pain that had made Lois tremble like that. It was his fingers. The feel of them on her cheek. They were rough and calloused; she had already known that. He had spent years doing things like baling hay and cleaning out the cow barn and fixing fences. His hands had gotten rough and strong with all the work.

But the way they felt on the sensitive flesh of her cheek... Well, that was different.

She was so busy marveling at the way his fingers felt that she didn't quite notice the way Clark peered over the rims of his glasses or the way the navy-blue irises _just_ gave way to bright blue. He took advantage of her momentary distraction to scan her cheekbone for any sign of a fracture and fortunately, found nothing except the early signs of a bruise.

"It seems okay." he told her, taking his hands away.

"Does it?" Lois touched her swelling cheek, lamenting at the loss of his fingers.

Clark nodded. "Let me get you that water."

There was a dispenser in the corner of the conference room. He filled a little plastic cup and brought it back over to her. Lois held the chilly cup against her cheek and left it there for a few seconds.

They sat quietly at the conference table for a few minutes, listening to the noise out in the newsroom. Clark could make out actual words. Trask was still shouting, threatening to arrest everyone in the newsroom for being contemptuous and harboring an alien, _employing_ him. Detective Turpin was shouting procedure, sounding like he was regurgitating the handbook. Lieutenant Sawyer was actually shouting at Trask's men to put their fucking guns down and stop thinking with their balls. Perry was just shouting.

 _How long is it going to take for things to calm down out there?_ Clark wondered.

"What an asshole!" Lois burst out, slamming her free hand down on the glossy surface of the table. "Who the everloving fuck does he think he is?! Running in here with Beratta assault rifles? He doesn't get to violate your constitutional rights! I want his name! There's going to be an article on this, for sure!"

She put the cup down and suddenly turned on Clark with a thoughtful expression.

"You've met him before." she realized.

Clark nodded. "Agent Jason Trask, director of Bureau 39."

Lois shook her head. "Never heard of them."

"According to him, Bureau 39 handles situations that the government can't afford to be associated with. At first, I thought he meant political scandals; the sort that would destabilize democracy or bring down the White House. But he showed up in Smallville with the CDC after the meteor shower looking for aliens." Clark explained.

Her expression sort of _slipped_ when it dawned on her exactly what he was talking about. Lois stared at him a second longer in disbelief, as it waiting for him to retract his comment.

"You mean _aliens_. Not illegal immigrants. You mean outer space aliens. This guy thinks you're an outer space alien." she said.

Then, just like the first time, she burst into laughter.

"That's delusional! You're as farm boy as they come, Smallville!" she giggled.

Clark was sure that she meant it as a compliment, but it still felt like something of an insult. Nonetheless, he was glad that Lois thought the whole thing was hilarious and ludicrous. It was the reason Trask hadn't been able to find any support for his claims. Johnathan and Martha had put on an excellent act of being completely flabbergasted by the idea that their son could be an alien and then vehemently denying it. They had played their roles perfectly; the doting, overprotective mother, and the outraged, belligerent father, waving the adoption paperwork and dragging an equally unhappy Judge Ross into the mess so she could confirm the legality. The adoption was above the board, fully approved, and ratified by the state of Kansas, and no one had any way of proving where Clark had actually come from.

Pete and Lana, the only other people who knew of Clark's extraterrestrial origins, had laughed hysterically and proceeded to tell somewhat edited horror stories that painted him as just being ridiculously clumsy and riddled with bad luck. The rest of Smallville, for the most part, just hadn't bought was Trask was trying to sell. It had still taken him five months to give up the chase.

In retrospect, Clark wondered if the only reason Trask had left at all was because he had found the shuttles.

"I know!" Lois snapped her fingers. "If by some bizarre and extremely unlikely chance that you turn out to be an alien, I'll stand in the middle of Planet Square bare-ass naked and hand out cupcakes shaped like butts."

 _I won't hold her to that._ Clark decided.

"That guy's a little shit." Lois went on, crossing her arms as though she was indignant on Clark's behalf. "What the hell makes him think you're an alien anyways? You don't even look like one!"

Clark shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose he just saw something a little unusual and blew it out of proportion. He _was_ looking for aliens." he pointed out.

"That's true." Lois agreed.

Clark really didn't know what had tipped Trask off and made the agent follow him around for five months. It had been a week after the meteor shower before the CDC had turned up, Bureau 39 following in their wake. By that time, the dust had settled and Smallville had started clean-up and Clark had had almost no reason to use his powers so extravagantly.

It could have been the proximity to the farm that had brought Trask running. The likely guess was that he thought the Kents were harboring the newcomer (which they were). Krypto's shuttle had landed in nearly the same spot as Clark's, about a hundred feet off. The Kents had gotten the shuttle moved to the barn before any agents had come snooping around, but there was no mistaking a fresh impact crater.

It took half an hour for the shouting in the newsroom to die off, fully stymied by the deep baritone boom of Police Commissioner Henderson ordering Trask off the premises and to quit upsetting the reporters. That only served to set Trask off again - Clark had all but tuned the agent out at this point.

The door opened and both of the reporters tensed, but the only person who let himself in was Detective Turpin and he closed the door when he was just barely over the threshold. He looked hassled and frazzled and otherwise very, very annoyed.

"What's going on out there?" Lois asked, standing up.

"Maggie- _-_ Ahem, Lieutenant Sawyer called the commissioner and the D.A. when Agent Trask refused to vacate the building." he explained. "He's still refusing to leave."

"Phillip Parker the D.A.?" Lois questioned. "You know he's semi-corrupt, right?"

Turpin raised his wild eyebrows. "Really?"

"Yeah, illegal gambling circuits. You should look into that." Lois suggested. "You were saying? Why is Trask refusing to leave the building?"

Turpin shrugged. "He's spouted a lot of nonsense about aliens and spaceships, but he's not really giving anyone a good reason for anything. Maggie wants to arrest him on the grounds of disturbing the peace and armed assault. I can't believe Commissioner Henderson is trying to talk her out of it." he grumbled. "His paperwork's legit, but that's about the only thing. He has a letter from the statehouse that gives him permission to work with Met P.D. in order to capture his- _-_ fugitives. But one of the agents told us that they were supposed to check in with the mayor's office and give Mayor Kovacs the run-down."

Lois smirked. "So they didn't make their courtesy calls." She was practically taking notes in her head. There was going to be a nice big juicy editorial for Wednesday's paper, if she could help it. "Who was Agent Stoolie Canary?"

"Some young dumb shit named Trevor. Trask fired him on the spot and then Maggie offered to hire him, so I'll bet anything he's going to be in a tell-all mood." Turpin assured her, looking a touch predatory, but he didn't like Trask very much at all either. "They're probably going to have half the city government breathing down their necks by lunchtime."

"Do you believe it? About the aliens?" Clark wondered. Turpin seemed like a level-headed fellow. Rational and taking fact over half-baked notions. Probably the sort of guy who would accept the impossible if there was enough evidence.

Turpin shrugged. "Our human lie detector told us that Trask actually believes the shit coming out of his own mouth." He looked at Clark apologetically. "Sorry you got caught in the middle, Mr. Kent."

"It's alright." the reporter shrugged. "Say, is there any chance I could get a restraining order on Trask? He's actually harassed me before for the same reason. I don't want him going after my parents again either."

"I'll talk to D.A. Parker for you." Turpin offered. "At the very least, we should be able to get him restricted from the _Daily Planet_ building."

"And Kent's apartment building." Lois added.

"I'll see what I can do." Turpin assured both of them. He turned to leave, his hand on the knob before he paused. "And Ms. Lane. As crazy as it sounds, there might be some weight to some of things Trask is saying. Bits of it, at least." he added. "Swing by the SCU when you're done for the day and I'll show you. Might be the biggest story you ever write."

He added it to be an incentive, but Lois took it as a challenge. Sure there was always a big story. The jackpot of gold at the end of the rainbow kind of story would make a reporter's career.

"Well, it sounds interesting put that way." she said, adopting that little Grinchy smile of hers. "Hey Smallville- _-_ "

Clark all but jumped out of the chair for a reason not related to Lois's story-grubbing.

"Actually, Ms. Lane, could you tell Perry that I'm ducking out for an hour or two? Something's come up and I should take care of it now while I'm still thinking about it." he said, making tracks for the door on Detective Turpin's heels.

"Where are you going?" Lois asked.

"Uh, Dr. Sullivan emailed me last night. He wanted to do some follow-up." Clark fibbed, not quite making it up on the spot, since that was exactly what he planned to do. "I meant to tell you, but then Trask happened."

"You got real popular all of a sudden, Smallville. Why does Dr. Sullivan want to talk to just you and not me?" Lois demanded, frowning.

"Well... I'm not scary like you."

Lois stared at him incredulously for a second and then shrugged like she couldn't really bring herself to argue with that. She waved him off with a dismissve 'shoo-shoo' gesture.

Clark hurried out of the conference room and across the bullpen floor, only glancing up long enough to see the satisfying sight of Trask being handcuffed and Lieutenant Sawyer so far up in his face with a stern finger that she was practically picking his nose. He grabbed his coat on his way past his desk and hurried to the elevator block before anyone could really take notice of him.

The interview with Dr. Sullivan over two weeks ago had been gnawing on Clark's mind ever since. He couldn't shake the perception that the engineer knew far more than he was going to let on in mixed company, meaning that a one-on-one meeting was the only way to go.

He had been considering going back to see Dr. Sullivan again, albeit in an on-off way where he kept going back and forth over whether or not that would be a good idea.

But now, it seemed like the _only_ idea that was even remotely good.

There were only two people on the planet who seemed to have any clue where Clark had come from and it was, quite literally, two more people than he'd ever expected. However, Dr. Essex was probably going to try and kill him if they crossed paths again (they hadn't encountered each other since the Hell's Gate docks, since Clark was **not** about to go looking for someone like that). Even though he clearly had answers, it was less likely he would care to share them.

Likewise, Dr. Sullivan appeared to have answers too, but if he was willing to share them was still up for debate. On the other hand, he hadn't shown any inclination of wanting to kill him and that made him the safer choice by far.

Clark exited the lobby of the _Daily Planet_ building. The sky was still blue and cloudless, the sun almost rude in its brightness. He glanced up and down the road absently and then set off up the street, pondering the best way to get to S.T.A.R. Labs via conventional transport (there was the unconventional transport, but he was trying to keep a low profile).

The D-train would take him within walking distance of the lab, but the line didn't run this far into Downtown. He would have to take the west-bound C-train to its terminus station and transfer over, but he had no idea what the schedule was like for the trains at this point in the morning. He was only sure of the 5:18 C-train and the 5:46 J-train transfer that he took to get home after work. Lois had cautioned him to use cabs and the city buses sparingly. The cabs were expensive and the city buses were hygienically alarming at times. Neither were much faster when you considered the average traffic flow.

Clark made a noise almost like 'hmph' and took out his phone, unlocking the screen with a swipe of his finger. The Metro-Metro App was the probably the handiest thing on his phone; it gave him real-time updates and schedule changes and construction warnings about Metropolis's public transportation. Lois had been absolutely appalled when she discovered that he hadn't downloaded it and had promptly done it for him. There was no surviving the city without it, she'd told him, not when it gave such valuable information.

He went to check the train schedules to see if he could grab the C-train at the next station or if the bus would prove more timely and his spine did that prickly spidey-sense thing that told him he was being followed a little too closely.

Clark took quick stock of himself, mentally tallying up what valuables he had on his person - _-_ which amounted to his phone, his wallet, and his apartment keys, and less than ten dollars. Traveling across a continent mostly on foot had taught him to reduce the number of valuable or expensive objects he carried at any given time. He hadn't bothered trying to break the habit, since it was good one to have.

Pearl smartphones were on their second generation, meaning the first was being re-sold for a mark-down price. He didn't have anything truly valuable on him and Perry was right. People usually didn't go after the big guys.

Usually.

Somewhere nearby, a dog barked, harsh and loud in warning. Clark sensed more than saw or heard the approaching hands - _-_ like he knew the molecules of air were parting behind him. It was a sensation that tingled up and down his spine.

Then it was like time slowed down around him. A car that had been throttling up from a start suddenly slowed to a crawl. The pigeon above his head could have been trapped in amber, its wings moving torpidly into the downstroke. Ever present steam rising from the manholes appeared to freeze, twisting curls suspended in midair. And then the hands inching up towards him and he could _almost_ see them from the corner of his eye- _-_

The intruding hands grabbed him under the shoulders, with a strong grip that a normal human couldn't have hoped to throw off, and dragged him upwards. Gravity bent. Clark lurched forward, instinctively trying to break the grip that was actually pulling him right of the ground, but the whole thing happened too fast for him to process it.

Funny, considering how slow time had appeared to be moving just half a second ago.

 _It's him, the man from the docks Norman Essex he's back to finish the job-_ -

The skyscrapers blurred past, long metallic streaks, faster than Clark had ever tried to fly, until they were bursting high into the bright blue sky, shedding the sound barrier behind them. The resulting boom shook Clark out of his momentary stupor and he heaved himself forward with all his strength, breaking free. He whirled around, intending to face his attacker head-on only to find himself facing a wall of white fur and a stiff tail smacked off his forehead.

Krypto had intercepted, back paws planted protectively on Clark's shoulders and blocking his view. The big wolf-like dog growled thunderously for about half a second, but the noise trailed off into a rumble of confusion.

"Krypto!" Clark hissed, wrapping his arms around the dog's middle to pull him out of way.

But hovering in front of him was not Norman Essex. Quite the opposite, it was Dr. Sullivan. He had his hands raised in surrender while a vague smile played around his lips. The glasses had slipped down his nose, displaying those eerily bright aquamarine eyes. And he was in the air alongside Clark with no apparent struggle.

This man wasn't exactly human either.

There was no question about it now.

"Hello Mr. Kent." Dr. Sullivan said politely, as though they weren't floating nearly a mile over the city. "I'm sorry about that. Perhaps we could talk like civilized gentlemen?"

* * *

-0-


	15. The Butterfly's Wings

Special off-schedule update cuz it's mah birthday y'all and imma do something nice.

Gonna go see the Phantom of the Opera this weekend!

* * *

Chapter Fifteen: The Butterfly's Wings

Though sprung from his jail cell on bail over forty minutes ago and released into the custody of his superior, Agent Trask stewed like over-cooked beef in an alarmingly tidy office.

He had been so _close_ this time! Closer than he had ever imagined himself getting! After seven years of running in circles, chasing down every lead and every dead end, he had _finally_ laid eyes on Prometheus again! He'd had the bastard dead to rights and then there had been all sorts of _interference_.

It was bad enough with that delusional bint calling herself a cop, but the pushy reporter? Her and all of her little co-conspirators, rallying around the Prometheus with the idea that they were protecting him.

 _They have no idea what they were standing beside. If they had known... If they had known, they wouldn't have been so eager to defend it._ Trask thought, a quiet rage making his hands curl into fists.

 _Just like last time, no one believed me. It's like he influenced them, controlled them! That must be it! He must have some mental powers over the weak-minded! Something that makes them blind and dumb to his true nature. That means I'm the only one who sees him for what he is._

 _For now._

 _I'll have to make them see. I'll make them all see!_

Were Trask anywhere else and speaking out loud, he probably would have dissolved into maniacal laughter worthy of any world-conquering villain. But even as it crossed his mind to give just a token sinister chuckle to properly set the tone, the office door opened and he twitched at the sound of the deadbolt clicking.

In marched the most precise-looking man Trask had ever seen in the last fourteen years. He was older, into his fifties, and that age showed on his face. His light brown hair was streaked gray and he had more lines in his face than a Scrabble board. His dark blue uniform was decorated with his service banners and down the straps of each shoulder were four gold stars. His shoes were shiny and polished, his trouser legs precisely creased, and his collar was so starched it could have stood at attention with the best of them. This was Trask's military contact and the off-the-record director of Bureau 39. The agent got to his feet and stood respectfully in something that could have passed for an attentive parade rest.

The general didn't pay him any attention at first. He marched past Trask like the agent was a potted plant and set down several official-looking folders on his desk. One of them was already open and the general was frowning at its contents like he had been personally offended. Trask had the feeling that the folder contained Einspahr's report about the clusterfuck at the _Daily Planet_. It had been a few hours since then; that was enough time to cough up an outline of the events.

Several moments stretched into a full minute before General Sam Lane turned around. "Trask, what the hell were you doing out there today?!" he demanded.

"Making progress." Trask replied.

"You stormed the _Daily Planet_ with assault rifles and no arrest warrant and in all likelihood, further damaged the legitimacy of this organization. That, Agent Trask, is the opposite of making progress." General Lane corrected.

"But he was there! The Prometheus was there!" Trask pointed out hotly. "Seven years I've been waiting to find him again and I have! We just don't _know_ where he is, we can actually bring him in! There's no way he can escape- _-_ "

"Silence!" General Lane shouted and Trask subsided. "You're not grasping the full scale of your actions, agent. You stormed into a building full of the most goddamned go-get-'em press reporters in the entire city. A building that, on a daily basis, happens to contain my daughter who has no issue whatsoever with calling for accountability from the government. She's made a living out of it! We can't smother this; Lois won't let it happen. I would bet ten dollars that there will be a story on this in the evening edition with her name in the byline if I didn't already know it would happen."

"General Lane, with all due respect, I highly doubt your daughter would actually be capable of getting the public to listen to her." Trask said assuredly. "She's a rookie reporter as it is. She'd have it hard enough to get people to take her seriously due to her inexperience and that's if she was a man. But she's just a girl."

And anyone with enough sense didn't listen to a woman. Especially if they were the ones who thought they could break society's strictures and become something they couldn't ever become.

"Trask, you need to break the habit of underestimating and under-valuing women. It's going to get you killed before it puts you in jail. I've had to wipe a lot from your record just to keep you in the field, but I can just as easily put it back in and then make it public." General Lane growled. Lois was a fine young woman even for all her faults, and Lucy was shaping up to match her sister with equal fervor; Ella had done well by them. "Remember, I have a daughter who'd no doubt love to get her hands on you now that she's seen your face. Her pen's poison. Given the chance, she'll rip you apart."

He could see at a glance, however, that Trask had no intention of attempting to break his ill-advised habit. A woman just wasn't a threat in his mind. He barely saw them as functional human beings, much less as people who were smarter and more clever and capable of out-witting him. It was probably poor form to wish the wrath of Lois Lane upon him, but General Lane felt that it might teach the agent a valuable lesson.

"What you did this morning was stupid and hasty and poorly conceived. I thought you knew better than to go charging in like a mad bull. Your zealousness to capture the Prometheus is making you sloppy and that's unacceptable." the general went on, scowling. "That stunt could have set us back, undone more than a decade of careful work, and ruined our credibility. Presidential campaigning starts in earnest next year and to get our man in the Oval Office, it has to look like he's backing something legit. Do you understand that? If there's any significant fall-out from your little escapade that injures our chances in the election, I'm blaming _you_."

He jabbed a finger at Trask's sternum to make sure he got the point.

"Sir, I want the Prometheus. That's all I want." the agent said. "I've been waiting too long. Frankly, I've about had it with your schedules and politicking- _-_ "

"And all the little fiddly things like rules and regulation and standard procedure?" General Lane interrupted, an eyebrow canted. "Agent Trask, you're a member of the United States government. Whether you like it or not, you are beholden to the constraints of the law. You will operate within legal parameters. You will do this properly, even if we have to fabricate a crime to pin on Mr. Kent first."

It was Trask's turn to cant an eyebrow questioningly, because he was ninety percent sure he hadn't heard correctly. General Lane was one of the most rule-abiding, organized people that he knew; the man pratically shat regulation. He was a straight-laced, by the book, yessir, no sir, tighter than a drum military officer because he didn't know how to be anything else. So there was no way he could have said...

"Pin a crime?..." the agent repeated uncertainly.

"That's correct." General Lane nodded. "I looked into it while you were enjoying the view from the Saint Dorfman facility. Whoever 'Clark Kent' is underneath it all, he's considered a naturalized citizen of the United States of America. No record of his birth, naturally, but the adoption was fully legal. He has no priors and certainly no criminal record to speak of. No one will believe that he's guilty of anything until he's guilty of _something_."

Trask whistled lowly. "That's a tall order, General Lane, framing someone. Gonna be hard to make it stick." he commented. "How are we supposed to go about making the Prometheus a threat to national security?"

"We? Don't be stupid, Trask. We can never afford to get our hands dirty." the general said, shaking his head. He tucked a folder under his arm. "No, this is a job for someone else. Come along."

He led the agent out of the office and down the white-washed, spic-and-span clean corridor. Fort Jurgens was the only military installation within the vicinity of Metropolis and it was a small one; more to house the local branch of the Air and Army National Guard than a properly outfitted base for the United States Army. Roughly pentagonal in shape, it was hemmed in by three layers of chain-link fence topped in barbed wire with guard towers located at the five corners. There was a large vehicle garage for the armored humvees and troop transport trucks and at least half a dozen Stryker Infantry Assault vehicles. There were also several aircraft hangars housing the small squadron of A-10 Thunderbolts and Pave Hawk helicopters.

It was the latter that General Lane led Trask to. There were no grunts to guard the door, which immediately struck Trask as odd, because weren't there usually grunts to guard the door? Sure Fort Jurgens was not a high-profile installation (many people seemed unaware that it existed), but weren't there always those young pimply recruits who had to do the undesirable things like stand guard beside a door for eight hours?

He found out why once he got inside. Perched in a folding chair under the nose of a Thunderbolt was the goliath-like form of Sofia Gigante. She had crossed her legs, her elbow propped on her knee with her chin on her curled fingers. Her heavy brow hooded her eyes and her smile was sharp and wicked as Trask came into sight, as if she were the hyper-intelligent raptor that had just laid eyes on some particularly dumb prey.

Behind her was a tall black man with shoulders wider than Trask's torso was long, the outline of everything from his pecs down to his abs visible through the thin fabric of his shirt. His yellow eyes followed Trask with the same sort of predatory raptor-like calculation.

Sofia had no other enforcers around her.

"Trask, I believe you are already familiar with Sofia Gigante." General Lane said, gesturing to the large-framed woman. "She controls the Metropolis branch of the Gigante crime family."

"We've met. She broke my hand." Trask said, glaring at her.

"If only that taught you to respect a woman's boundaries." Sofia said. Her smirk widened, if anything. "You should feel fortunate. I could have crippled your arm up to the shoulder."

Trask colored red in the cheeks at the reminder and inhaled to start a dick-measuring contest.

"I'm glad you two are acquainted. That makes this a bit easier." General Lane said dryly, cutting that one off before it could start. "Trask, behave yourself. Mrs. Gigante is a worthy asset. Through her, we have very useful connections to Gotham."

"You're welcome." Sofia said throatily. She straightened up in the chair, as if to show off the broadness of her own shoulders.

"She broke my hand! Why do you keep her around?" Trask demanded.

"I'm sure she broke a lot more than your hand at the time." General Lane commented. "Didn't you hear me, agent, or are you deliberately being deaf? Mrs. Gigante is a well-placed individual. She is what you might call a necessary evil."

"All due respect, _sir_ , what is that supposed to mean?" Trask asked.

General Lane made a face like he was talking to a singularly dumb person and from his perspective, he was. Trask's mind was about as complex as a five-note xylophone laboriously churning out the alphabet song and not half as melodious. He was a dumb solider, conditioned to take orders and not expend much brain power on thinking for himself. In comparison, General Lane's mind was a two-hundred piece orchestra performing _Flight of the Bumblebee_ at full tempo.

"A kingdom can fall, for want of a nail. Do you know what that means, Agent Trask? No, of course you don't." General Lane said dismissively. "How about the Butterfly Effect? I imagine you're much more familiar with that. A butterfly may flap its wing in Brazil and set off a tornado in Texas. Or create typhoons in Taiwan. The tiniest change in the beginning could have a catastrophic effect on the outcome. An outcome we don't want to see. And that is where enterprising folks like Sofia Gigante come into the picture."

Trask sneered. "I thought the government and the military didn't associate themselves with criminals."

"We associate ourselves with you." General Lane sneered back. "For the past decade, Metropolis's criminal underworld has operated without a definitive leader. The police have come closer and closer to shutting it down entirely."

"Well, isn't that a good thing?" Trask inquired. It was what people always talked about; making crime obsolete.

"It depends on your perspective." General Lane said. "The truth is, crime can never truly be eradicated because it is a vital component to society as a whole. However, you cannot allow crime and lawlessness to overrun a city, otherwise you end up with Gotham. You need someone to direct it. Control it. Prune out undesirable elements on either side of the law. Just like the light side of the law must be disciplined and ordered, so must too be the dark side. My daughter Lois is well-intentioned, but even with her record, she is still shockingly naive. She doesn't understand that good must be balanced with evil. That balance is in constant sway and it is women like Mrs. Gigante who will keep it from tipping too far to either side."

Trask busted out laughing, an ugly sort of crow-like laugh. "Gigante? She's a dime-store thug! And a _girl_! No one sends a girl to do a man's job!" he said disparagingly.

Hands larger than his head closed around his neck and chin with the same abruptness of a striking snake. Trask's laughter gulped to a halt and his knees went wobbly when he realized the hands were well-positioned to snap his neck. Sofia moved around in front of him, still grinning that predatory raptor grin. The fingers flexing ever so slightly against his neck, Trask knew it was in his best interest not to struggle.

"He was about your size." Sofia said.

"Who was?" the agent asked.

"The first man I killed." Sofia answered. "I was sixteen when I snapped his neck. My father saw the first kill as something of a test. If we could end a man's life, we were ready to take our place in the family business. If not, we would be allowed to pursue our own goals and desires. My goal and desire was to pursue the family business. I say he was about your size, but I was a foot shorter than I am now. Nonethless, his body presumably still rests on the bottom of the Monchant River."

She took a step forward so she was up inside the agent's personal space, bent over slightly to be at his eye-level.

"Do you really want to test me, little man? Do you want to test your soft fleshy underbelly against the armor I've quenched and hardened on the bloodied streets of Gotham? You don't even know who I am. I am Sofia Falcone Gigante. My father is Carmine Falcone, the head of Gotham's Roman Empire. He is the necessary evil that contains the tide of horrors that is the Crime Capital of America.

"Do you know why you've never hunted in Gotham? Because it is the Roman who keeps your metas in line. He offers them a place in the world they would not have otherwise. He offers them a purpose, security. There are metas out there, shunned by the strictures of society, who would sign away a kidney for the basic necessities. My father supplies living quarters and financial security to them. He had won their respect and he respects their power in turn. You only fear them, because you know in your heart that they are stronger than you. In your fear, you rampantly destroy what has the potential to be so beautiful. The power of a meta should be channeled into the greater good, not indiscriminately snuffed out."

Her eyes flicked up to look over Trask's shoulder.

"I want you to think about the man holding your neck and the strength in his fingers. Twelve hundred and fifty pounds per foot of torque to break a man's neck. Twelve hundred and fifty pounds to this man is a pebble. A _pebble_!" Sofia held up two fingers barely millimeters apart. "That's all you are to him. And when all the metas you have hunted come rising up against you, with their strength and their speed and their flight and their telekinetics, do you really think you stand a chance?"

"Now- _-_ Now listen you grotesquely-sized bitch- _-_ " Trask started, but Sofia reached forward and pinched his lips shut.

"Mr. Trask, you have not grasped the fact that you are a chattering little means to an end and one I will take great pleasure in crushing when I no longer have use of you. You need _me_ far more than I need you. Remember that before you decide to mouth off a second time."

She released his lips and her enforcer released his neck. Trask stumbled away from the pair of them, trying not to let on that Gigante's little speech had rattled him down to the bones. Then he promptly denied that he was even afraid of her. He shouldn't be scared of a girl, he told himself. Underneath it all, Sofia Gigante was still just a vagina and a pair of breasts.

General Lane cleared his throat and stepped into their midst once again. "Agent Trask, I don't believe you're previously acquainted with Dr. Essex." He gestured to the large black man looming menacingly at Sofia's right side. "As of today, he will be joining Bureau 39 as a temporary agent."

Trask blinked. "What."

"If you didn't infer as much from Mrs. Gigante's speech, Dr. Essex is a meta. He has super-strength and you're going to need that in order to bring down your Prometheus." the general said, his glare just this side of piercing. "The times are changing, agent. At least put forth a token effort to keep up."

"Is he stronger than the Prometheus? I saw that asshole lift a bus once. A school bus. Clear off the ground." Trask said. That was in no way a small feat. School buses could weigh as much as ten thousand pounds and that was when they were empty. The agent scowled. "I don't want him. Get me the old guard."

"STORM? No, STORM's disbanded." General Lane said.

"That's not what I hear." Trask said.

"I'm afraid that's the official stance. There's nothing I can do to change it."

"Then I want Ignis and Fatuus. They were the only _useful_ members."

"Where have you been in the past six years, agent? Ignis and Fatuus are dead." General Lane replied. "Ignis from a heart attack, Fatuus from liver failure, two years apart. They were both heavy drinkers in the last decade of their lives. In any case, they were too aggressive to continue active duty. They were dismissed following the collapse of the Agency." he explained. "STORM is dead. You get Dr. Essex or no one at all."

" _Fine_."

"Thank you for your understanding." General Lane said. "You'll find your men in the barracks. I want you and Agent Einspahr in the conference room at three-thirty sharp for full debriefing and we will discuss your inability to wrap up loose ends. Dismissed, Agent Trask."

"I'm not your soldier!"

"I said, dismissed, Agent Trask."

The Bureau 39 agent made a face, sticking out his tongue, and saluted with one finger. His bit of insubordination finished, he turned and stomped out of the hangar like a child throwing a temper tantrum. He even slammed the door behind him.

"If you weren't paying me with a helicopter, I would wring his neck." Sofia announced, crossing her arms.

"He's unpleasant, but useful." General Lane said, taking the folder out from under his arm and opening it. "To an extent." he added, admitting to himself at least that Trask was going to outlive his usefulness sooner than originally predicted. He nodded to the woman. "The Huey in the back corner. It's been retired into a warbird, meaning it's been stripped of all its weaponry. You'll have to re-install it on your own."

"We'll manage." Sofia said, and then went to inspect the helicopter. When she left, Dr. Essex stepped closer.

"No." he said simply.

General Lane raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not working with that- _-_ that _maggot_." Dr. Essex spat. "That repulsive little waste of poorly conceived cells has a better chance of bursting into flame before I work with him."

"I'm not giving you another avenue. You're too much of a loose cannon to run around unsupervised." the general stated. "And please don't _assist_ Trask with bursting into flames, Nam-Ek."

Dr. Essex growled, for his name really was Nam-Ek, of the noble Kryptonian House of Ek whose history had crossed science and war and genetic modification and other realms of science the Kryptonian High Council would have considered 'shady'. He hadn't gone by that name in quite a while, but he hadn't stopped thinking of himself by it.

"If you want the Prometheus, you'll have to wait until we're through with him. Then you can have whatever pieces are left over."

"That's not acceptable!" Nam-Ek growled. "Your Prometheus is one of mine. He's the last son of the House of El, and an abomination at that. He must be destroyed and I will be the one to do it. It's my duty. I'm the only one left to execute it." He stepped closer, using his height to an advantage. "These politics are over your head, General Lane. Do not interfere."

For his part, General Lane wasn't cowed. He had helped raised two singularly headstrong girls and the eldest had slammed into independent adulthood like a bomb and had been causing trouble ever since. It was no longer possible for him to be intimidated in the slightest.

"But you're on Planet Earth now, son. You play by our rules." he said. "The only reason I don't have you strapped to an operating table with your brain in a jar is because of our agreement. An agreement I have continued to honor despite you failing to hold up your end of the bargain and staying at S.T.A.R. Labs."

"No, the only reason my brain is not in a jar is because you can't find a blade that pierces my skin." Nam-Ek corrected smugly. " _Nothing_ on this planet can harm me."

"Permanently." General Lane added. "Electricity appears to have some effect."

Nam-Ek snorted. "Temporary."

"Ah, but if we applied enough ampage? Held you under it for prolonged periods? Would your heart stop forever?" General Lane wondered. He smiled slowly. "You're still mine, boy. Obey your leash."

He slapped the folder into the Kryptonian's chest and walked away to check on Sofia. Nam-Ek grabbed the folder reflexively and opened it up. There were photos inside and every single one of them was of the same thing: the quartz-like shuttle with the gyroscope gimbals. A shuttle that was clearly of Kryptonian manufacture with a particular flair to it that suggested the House of El. Small enough to transport a very young child.

But it wasn't the ship as a whole that grabbed Nam-Ek's attention. It was the unusual growth of crystals between the rear bulkhead and the engine casing; something that wouldn't have normally been there. The photographer had been diligent and had taken several close-up shots. Encased inside the crystal growth was a perfectly round sphere not more than seven inches in diameter. It glowed a dark blue, the glow waxing and waning from picture to picture. Criss-crossing diagonally it were two metallic bands that would float off the sphere when it was activated, to open the doorway.

Nam-Ek inhaled suddenly. _A Phantom Zone projector! Jor-El you stupid fool! Why in Rao's name would you-_ -

The thought broke off and he remembered why a fool like Jor-El would risk the dangers of sending a Phantom Zone projector out into deep space, alongside a _very experimental_ Phantom Drive which operated on similar principles as the projector. But the drive and the projector would have repelled each other had they been exposed. One wrong hit to that protective casing and the little shuttle would have been dust. Jor-El and his wife had been taking a mighty risk with sending their son away from a doomed planet with _this_ in tow.

But they were sentimental fools. They wouldn't forsake one child to save the other.

"I should have known." Nam-Ek whispered, chuckling. He glanced across the hangar to where General Lane was conversing with Sofia and smiled. "I'm not going to be yours for much longer, General. It will be a great pleasure to see you kneel before _my_ general."

* * *

Clark didn't consider himself a naturally violent person. He didn't know his birth parents, but he was obviously not predisposed to losing his shit even in situations where his shit oughta have been long gone. Frankly, he didn't have the luxury of allowing his temper to run away with him, not with his strength and the other inhuman attributes that had cropped up since puberty. If he lost his cool at someone just for one second, then he would consider it _lucky_ if that person lived. Controlling his powers likewise meant controlling his temper and deliberately injuring someone was _not cool_.

But right now, he had never wanted to laser-eye someone more in his life.

And it wasn't like anything really _bad_ had happened either.

Currently, Clark was in the plushly appointed living room of none other than Dr. Sullivan who now sat on the opposite couch with a sheepish, if slightly terrified expression. There was a coffee table and Krypto between them, the latter eyeballing each of them warily as if calculating when to get out of the way.

"What the hell?" Clark finally managed to ask.

"I'm sorry." Dr. Sullivan said.

"I was literally on my way to see you!"

"I panicked!"

"You- _-_ practically tried to kidnap me!" Clark sputtered. "I'm on edge enough as it is with what's happened today and then you come in out of nowhere and try and fly off with me and it didn't occur to you that if you'd just asked me politely, I would have gone with you?"

"You were already a little panicked when I saw you back at S.T.A.R. Labs. I had no idea how you were going to react to meeting me a second time, so I wanted to make sure I had your undivided attention." Dr. Sullivan corrected, as if that made it better. "Second of all, I panicked! I don't- _-_ I don't this very often! Actually, I've never had to do this, so I panicked. I couldn't figure out how I was supposed to do it."

 _Do not laser-eye him._ Clark told himself, covering his face with his hands to better ensure that he didn't. He had been half-expecting to fight off the likes of Dr. Essex. Instead, he had gotten the _other_ S.T.A.R. Labs scientist who had suffered a momentary bout of social ineptness, and watched him like he expected to get punched in the neck for this.

The better option, truly, but it was still the principle of the matter.

"I really am sorry." Dr. Sullivan added. "I guess I can't keep saying I panicked, but I did. Is there any chance we could just let this one slide?"

Clark sighed. "I wasn't raised to hold grudges." he admitted. He didn't like it either. You had to expend a lot of mental energy into a grudge and it was _exhausting_. "But the next time you want to talk to me, please just call me at the _Daily Planet_."

Dr. Sullivan nodded. "Would you like some coffee?" he offered belatedly. "I have an expresso machine."

"Yes, thank you."

The engineer practically fled to the kitchen and Clark just slumped into the couch. Krypto hopped onto the couch and dropped into his lap with a heavy **thump**. The dog looked up at him with big blue eyes, ears pricked forward attentively. After a second, Krypto tilted his head questioningly.

"You've been following me to work." Clark accused. The barking dog must have been Krypto. It would explain how he had gotten there in a heartbeat.

The big dog shrugged, as if he wasn't going to commit to an answer.

Dr. Sullivan lived in the northern borough of Lafayette, which was quite solidly middle-class and featured street after street of bungalow-style housing. His was a small house barely nine hundred square feet with a full bath and an empty basement. It was furnished like the engineer had gone straight to an interior decorator for some tips but had never actually bought furniture before, meaning everything was mostly color-coordinated but there was a tacky bit of something like a bowling pin lamp jarring out of what should have been seamless to the eye.

There was nothing about the house that suggested its inhabitant came from another planet.

Except that it was heavily sound-proofed.

Clark knew that there were very small children in the neighboring backyard; he had seen them out the window, messing about in the fresh snowfall. The supervising parent was nattering away on a smartphone. Clark should have been able to hear that conversation as easily as if they were standing right next to him. But for a change, he was almost completely deaf to any sound outside the house. The walls, ceiling, and floor were all lined with lead, which had something of a muffling effect on his abilities.

Dr. Sullivan came back with two cups of expresso and set them on the coffee table before he sat back down. He slid one of the cups over to Clark and waited for him to take it before he said anything.

"I really am sorry for the way I went about this. My parents would be ashamed of my manners. _Your_ parents would be ashamed of my manners." he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I..." Clark started impulsively, though the words just weren't there. And it was strange, because he wasn't always choked for a lack of things to say. Lois could say things that left him grappling for a response, but she was in a class of her own.

This wasn't how he had envisioned it. It was precisely the opposite. He had pictured himself arriving unannounced at the lab with a Lois-like entrance, barging in and taking command of the room like a bad-ass.

It was like a balloon deflated. He thought he had gone over the scenario enough times in his head, but now in practice, Clark was at a loss where to start. He was on the verge of learning something straight-up _monumental_ and the knowledge would probably _change his life_ , but now that he was here, all of the questions he had been holding for the past eight years had dissolved into a useless morass and he couldn't find a single word to say.

"What do mean _my_ parents?" Clark finally asked, bewildered because _which_ set of parents?

"Lara used to accuse me of being impulsive. By our standards, I suppose I was." Dr. Sullivan went on. He smiled at Clark over the rim of the coffee cup. "That's her name, you know. My daughter, your mother, Lara Lor-Van."

Clark a double-take. "What? What did you just- _-_ " He couldn't finish.

"Mr. Kent- _-_ May I call you 'Clark'? Given what I'm about to confirm for you, it may be more appropriate." Dr. Sullivan said. Then he took a deep breath, appeared to steady himself, and said: "Clark, I am your maternal grandfather."

Clark stared blankly for a few seconds before he felt an internal scream coming on.

He really didn't know his grandparents. Hiram and Jessica Kent had died of old age a year before he'd been adopted. Johnathan still spoke fondly of his parents when he did. On the other side of the family, Mary Clark had been a victim of a five-car pile-up and her husband William had never really approved of Martha's marriage and her dropping out of law school to become a farmer's wife.

William Clark had come by the farm just once, as perfunctory and forced as though it was a scheduled check-up. He'd still disapproved all over Martha's twenty-plus year decision and then, as if to demonstrate just how out of the loop he was, he'd spotted Clark and asked his son-in-law if the farm was doing well enough to hire a teenager to assist.

If Martha had face-palmed, if Johnathan had told his father-in-law to fuck off into the sunset, and if Clark had crushed the shovel under his hands, then no one had called the other out on it.

William had nearly been chased off the property without learning he had a grandson and they hadn't exactly communicated since. It wasn't really a loss, since Clark didn't have to watch his mother make constipated expressions and get stressed out over dealing with her father.

Needless to say, Clark didn't have much of an opinion on grandparents and he had never thought there had been a void that needed filling. He had been an only child, sure, but he'd had Pete and Lana and he had been welcomed into their extended families as easily as if he had been born there.

So if there _was_ a void, it had probably been filled regardless.

He blinked and said: "What?"

It was less a response and more a reaction that really didn't provide an opening for further explanation. Dr. Sullivan fidgeted on the couch cushion.

"I can do a DNA test, if you'd like." he offered. "It'll have to be with a cheek swab, though. I bent every hypodermic needle I tried to put through my skin and I suspect you're the same way."

"No- _-_ No, I mean..." Clark waved a hand. " _How_?"

"My daughter conceived a child with her husband and then gave birth to you?"

"Stop being literal. I thought- _-_ " Clark broke off and decided "ugh" was the only acceptable thing to utter. He rubbed his forehead with both hands and tried to gather his thoughts. He had tried to write out a script in his head for this discussion, but Dr. Sullivan had cheerily dropped it into a fire with that little bombshell.

And he must have been dying to tell Clark that very thing when they'd met two weeks ago.

"If you're my grandfather, then where have you been for the last twenty-two years?" Clark demanded.

Dr. Sullivan held up a hand to forestall the answer. "Clark... How much do you know? Did you find the _Idatha Xhamsahti_?" he asked. "If you did, that's going to save me some time having to explain."

Clark shook his head. "I don't even what you just said."

The engineer's face fell half in despair. "You don't know anything? Nothing about Krypton?"

 _Krypton?_ The familiarity made Clark jolt a little and he immediately looked down at Krypto (who licked his chin in return). Just one letter short. The name had sprung into his mind the moment he'd laid eyes on the then-six month old puppy. Maybe the name had always been in his head. He had been just a year old himself the day he'd arrived on Earth, but maybe there was something that he'd remembered all along.

"Is that the planet?" he asked, just to be sure.

Dr. Sullivan tilted his head with a growing expression of relief. "Oh good... I don't have to try and convince you that you're not human."

"The people who raised me weren't dumb enough to try and keep that from me." Clark said, a touch defensively. "All things considered, it was a little hard to convince _myself_ I was entirely human. Not when I could lift a one-ton truck above my head."

The engineer shrugged. "A fair point." he conceded. Though he couldn't explain the car-lifting business. Earth had a much lighter gravity than Krypton, but lifting tractor trailers with ease should not have happened.

"Is your name actually Anthony Sullivan?" Clark wondered.

Dr. Sullivan shook his head. "No. It's 'Thee'ton Sul-Van'. I don't think I have to tell you how I got 'Anthony Sullivan' out of that." he said, looking a bit amused at his twenty-year old cleverness. "I've lived here on Earth for about as long as you've been alive."

"But... Where have you been?" Clark asked again, his tone tinged with anger.

This man was claiming to be his grandfather, but god only knew how he had gotten to Earth in the first place. And there was the implication that he had been on this planet since before Clark's arrival.

Martha and Johnathan had been the best parents he could have hoped for, but they'd never had the answers. It would have been better to have someone there who would have been able to answer his questions. His parents could have sent him to talk to Grandpa. He could have gotten his answers so much sooner, instead of waiting over eight years for them and then scarcely believing them despite evidence to the contrary.

Dr. Sullivan looked a little frustrated, as though this wasn't going nearly as smoothly as he had originally imagined. "The basic story is that we had to evacuate. At your father's request, I set out to find a suitable planet to evacuate to. Jor-El- _-_ "

"I've heard that name." Clark interrupted.

"Yes, he's your father." Dr. Sullivan blinked, and then waved it off. "Let me finish. Jor-El was hoping to save his family, at least, since no one else was listening to him. I found Earth. I sent coordinates back. And no one ever came. At the time, I had every reason to believe that Lara and Jor-El never escaped Krypton and that you had died with them. I had gotten no reply. There was nothing to assure me that my daughter and son-in-law had made it here safely, much less at all. If I couldn't be sure you were even alive, where was I supposed to start looking?"

Then he put his head in his hands.

Some of the anger that had been stewing in Clark's chest for the past few minutes fizzled away and he felt sympathy instead. Though he didn't know how truly desperate the situation had been, Dr. Sullivan's tone conveyed enough of that to him. He had spent the last twenty years on Earth, hoping against chance that he hadn't lost the only family he had left.

Not to mention where he might have touched down. Just because Clark had landed in Smallville Kansas, it didn't mean that was where Dr. Sullivan had set up shop. He could have been here around Metropolis or further north in Canada. The tornado in Kansas had only been part of a six-state outbreak, with rotating super-cells lingering for over a week afterwards. If Dr. Sullivan had known what to look for, then he would have been looking literally from Nevada down to Texas and out into Missouri.

And Smallville... Well, it was three miles from the highway, neck-deep in cornfields, and absolutely nothing special.

"Sorry." Clark said softly, running his fingers through Krypto's fur.

Dr. Sullivan scrubbed his hands down his face as he looked up. "No, I'm sorry I don't have more proof for you." he said.

"Hang one, you said I should have found the- _-_ " Clark tried to remember what the engineer had even said, but he knew he wouldn't be able to reproduce the sounds. "The something?"

"The- _-_ well, the flash drives. I don't think there's a direct translation, but they're flash drives or external hard-drives. Lara and Jor-El were planning to save Krypton's history and culture as best they could. You really didn't find them?"

"You think I would have known how to work them if I did?"

Whatever they looked like, Clark sincerely doubted that these "external hard-drives" were compatible with human technology. They were discussing being part of an alien race technologically advanced enough for interstellar travel.

"Yeah, Earth's technology is not..." Dr. Sullivan trailed off and cleared his throat loudly. "It's got several hundred decades before it catches up to our stone age." he finished diplomatically. "Is there any _particular_ questions you have? I can answer quite a lot, I think, but my specialty has always been engineering."

Clark opened his mouth to ask something- _-_ _anything_ , but there was _nothing_. And there would probably continue to be nothing until his brain had fully processed what the hell had just happened to him.

For god's sake, he was sitting in front of his _grandfather_.

It wasn't that he didn't have questions, it was that he barely knew which question to start _with_.

"Can you... Can you just tell me about my parents?" he wondered.

Dr. Sullivan grinned. "I'll start with how they met." he said, and then moved to stand up. "And I can do you one better. I have pictures."

* * *

-0-


	16. Tornadoes in Texas

Aaaand we're back on regularly scheduled updates.

I know I picked up some new regulars recently, so be informed that I usually update this story every other week (either thursday or friday, depending on my time management skills). Barring, of course, any illness, holidays, or emergency editing. If you're wondering why such a long gap when I've stated repeatedly that the story's already been completed... Well, that's the thing. The story might be complete, but it's been a while since I've read over some of these chapters. Spacing out the updates means I have the time to read over the pending chapter and make sure that it still makes sense.

And remember: Alien biology is alien.

* * *

Chapter Sixteen: Tornadoes in Texas

It was snowing buckets again; a meteorological event that was hardly unusual for Metropolis. But the fact that the city had five more months of this to look forward to? It was only November and already Lois couldn't wait for spring.

"I have no tolerance for winter. I hate it when it snows and I hate the way it gets everywhere. I hate the cold weather. I have no idea why I just don't move out of Metropolis and go south to like Texas." she grumbled, tightening her scarf against the blowing snow.

"Tornados." Clark told her.

"Right. Maybe I should try for the lower half of the east coast instead. Definitely south of Gotham."

"Then you get hurricanes. And on the west coast, you get earthquakes and poisonous snakes. And scorpions. And Mormons."

Lois did a double-take and grinned. "Clark Kent, did I just hear you insult Mormons?"

"Of course not. I don't insult other people's religious beliefs. That's incredibly rude." Clark stated, or rather, _denied_ because he smiled as he said it. He really bore them no ill unless they came knocking around the farm and persistently asking if they had ever given God the time of day until Johnathan had explained to them in great detail what kind of damage a shotgun blast could leave.

"Whatever you say." Lois drawled. "So, what did Dr. Sullivan want to talk to you about? Did he give you any more juicy details about Dr. Essex?"

"He lied in his email. It was nothing about Dr. Essex, for one." Clark lied. There was _no way_ he was going to tell Lois the whole truth. That was somewhere between asking for trouble and actively looking for it. On that note, he had not actually gotten around to asking Dr. Sullivan about Dr. Essex. "It was honestly a little more personal."

"Too personal to share?" Lois inquired. Honestly, Clark had turned up an hour ago looking more unsettled than she'd ever seen him and said something about having a lot on his mind when she'd first asked.

Clark shrugged. Were he talking to any other person, he didn't think he would have shared the details, but Lois had developed a way of worming past anyone's defenses and she'd poke and prod anyways because that was what she did. She would hardly treat Clark any differently just because they had reached a stage that could definitively called friendship.

So he went ahead and said: "Dr. Sullivan told me that I'm the spitting image of his son-in-law."

Lois's eyes widened. "Did he now... That's interesting." she said, nodding. "So... is he, I dunno, related to you or something? Like, as your grandfather? He almost looks too young to have a twenty-three year old grandson, though."

"He wants to find out." Clark hesitated for a moment to work out how to phrase the next bit. "He told me that he had a grandson, but his daughter and son-in-law died abruptly in an accident, and he never found out what happened to their son. So, it seems there's a possibility. And there is a distinct resemblance."

A very exact resemblance, actually. Clark was nearly a clone of his father. It was the result of genetic manipulation - _-_ very common in Kryptonian society to prune out undesireable traits and propogate certain strains, like those designer babies everybody hissed over. It had had the side-effect of isolating certain traits and narrowing the gene pool something fierce, though. Clark's own genes for appearance hadn't been manipulated at all. He had come out looking so much like his father because there had been practically nothing else to choose from.

"Clark, that's amazing!" Lois slapped his arm in a vaguely celebratory manner. "See, told you this job would get you connections! Good on you for taking the initiative! I'll buy you a cheeseburger when we get there!"

"About that, where are we going?" Clark asked, because he was pretty sure he hadn't caught the name of their destination.

"To talk to Agent Stoolie Canary. That 'young dumbshit named Trevor' who blabbed Trask's secrets to the Met P.D. and got fired for his troubles." Lois answered. "He's at some sports pub a few more blocks down. Lombarde gets his testosterone on down there every day after work. He texted me just a bit ago. He says Agent Stoolie Canary is there."

"Wow, you two are talking civil?"

"It won't last. He still asked if he could buy me a drink."

The End Zone was a very classic sort of sports bar with flatscreen televisions mounted everywhere, including the bathrooms. The dominating sports were football and basketball, and hockey was starting to rev into gear too (this close to Canada, the blood of sports fans was laced with enough maple syrup for them to lust after the brutality of hockey). The bar served every kind of fatty, greasy food imaginable and several kinds of local microbrews along with the brand-names. Its patrons all seemed to look very much alike; cut from the same mold of vaguely good-looking, wearing polo T-shirts or long sleeves rolled up to their elbows, clean-cut hair, and most likely desk jockeys who had just gotten off of work. The only women Clark spotted were the waitresses.

"Welcome to the Dick Zone. Free testosterone injections with every third beer." he muttered in Lois's ear.

The black-haired woman sniggered. "Good one, Smallville."

She looked around the pub just once before spotting her quarry and strolled on over. Clark had to admire the way Lois walked like she ruled the sports pub with an iron fist. Her shoulders were straight and she utilized every inch of her five-foot-seven frame (plus two-inch heels). Steady commanding strides and a powerful sense of purpose that dared anyone to stop her and ordered everyone to get out of her way without her actually having to say a word. Clark suddenly felt like a dumpy little tugboat trailing in the frothing wake of a majestic ocean-liner and wondered if Lois just walked like this everywhere for the effect of it.

Agent Stoolie Canary looked like a wholesome, all-American boy with dark blonde hair and blue eyes, and maybe just a year or two older than Clark and Lois. He was baby-faced and didn't look like he would have much of a temper. He sat at a booth filling out what looked a great deal like a job application with an empty basket of pizza fries and a glass of the best microbrew in Metropolis.

Lois slid gracefully into an empty seat beside him and Clark sat down beside her. Agent Stoolie Canary looked up abruptly and shot the pair of reporters wary looks, focusing particularly on Lois's smirky grin. Clark heard his heart-rate increase nervously.

"Is this part where you take me out back and shank me?" the former agent asked, as if he had fully expected retaliation from Trask.

Lois scowled. "Why the hell would I shank you before you give me the dirt? We want to talk to you." she assured him. "I'm Lois Lane and that hunk of harmless farm boy over here is Clark Kent. We're reporters. With all the dick-slapping going on back at the _Planet_ , I don't think we got around to introductions. It's 'Trevor', right?"

"'Trevor' is my last name." Agent Stoolie Canary corrected, still eyeballing Lois warily. "It's Steve Trevor."

"Nice to meet you, Steve Trevor." Lois said, sounding like she was sincerely pleased to meet him. In a way, she was.

She extended a hand to him and Steve stared at it for a long moment, perhaps anticipating some kind of trick. But Lois tilted her hand to show that her palm was empty and that seemed to be good enough. Steve returned the handshake.

"Like I said, we want to talk to you." Lois said.

Steve narrowed his eyes and peered at her suspiciously.

"What's in it for me?" he asked.

"Another basket of pizza fries and the personal satisfaction that you get to help fuck over your former boss." Lois offered. She leaned closer. "I want the shit, Mr. Trevor. I want enough shit to fertilize the vegetable patch Clark over there is planning. I want to know all of the bad things that Trask had ever done because I'm going to put them all in the paper that goes all over Metropolis and half the nation. I'm going to expose his ass like it's never been exposed before. He's not going to have a leg to stand on by the time I'm through with him."

Steve snorted. "Good luck with that. Trask smothers information as well as he smothers people. I mean that literally. And to be honest, Miss Lane," The former agent looked her up and down with concern, his eyes lingering for a second on the bruise she had covered with concealer. "I'd rather not read your obituary in the paper and discover that your cause of death was unknown. Or possibly that you were raped and strangled. He likes to mix it up."

"Go on." Lois prompted. The notebook and pen had come out in the mean time.

Steve blinked. "You're serious?" he asked incredulously. He looked at Clark. "She's serious?"

"Very serious." Lois nodded.

"She's serious." Clark confirmed, hoping that his long-suffering expression would convey the gist of _'It's not that she has a death wish, but it's more like bad judgment about when she's in over her head. Don't worry, I've got her back.'_

It seemed to read with Steve and he nodded, if a tad reluctantly. Once they'd placed orders for food and drink, the former agent proceeded to spill his guts.

He had joined the Air Force right out of high school, like most new recruits. Not quite the storied military career or a meteoric rise through the ranks, but he had still made sergeant. He had been quite thoroughly average, drumming himself out at the end of his six-year contract to return to civilian life because putting his ass on the line was not really how he wanted to go through the rest of his life and there were too many battle-zones that America had gotten entirely too involved with.

He had been tapped to join Bureau 39 within the first two months. It had been a cushy job at first, giving him the pay grade and the spare time to start attending college on a part-time basis without having to take out student loans. Then he'd realized that he didn't actually know what his job was; he had been fed a line on terrorist threats from the inside, which had lead him to believe that he was working for a more discreet and obscure branch of Homeland Security. And many of the people around him were world-class fuck-nuts who shouldn't have been given positions of relative authority since it did funny things to their heads.

In fact, Steve didn't learn the secret of Bureau 39 until he had managed to climb high enough into the ranks to get a field position.

That was when he'd actually met Trask for the first time.

And that was when it had all gone weird.

"Trask is a fucking psychopath!" Steve hissed in a low voice. He was working on his second beer and his third basket of pizza fries, albeit sharing it with the two reporters. The rest of the food had come and gone; all that remained of Clark's promised cheeseburger were a few fragments of bun.

"I got that feeling the first time he batted his crazy eyes at me. Could you elaborate?" Lois requested. "Specifically on what Bureau 39 actually does. Trask didn't want to give a clear answer."

Her probing was remarkably gentle compared to the last time Clark had seen her grill someone. He wondered if it was because the moment Steve had started talking, the dam had broken and now he just _couldn't stop_. There was no need to fire-sear someone who was in a tell-all mood.

"Turns out, we are sort of an extension of Homeland Security and there was something I could refer to as 'terrorist watch'." Steve explained. "But truth is, Bureau 39 is all that's left of the Department of Extranormal Operations."

Lois's pen actually screeched.

"What." she said flatly.

"That's impossible." Clark stated. "They shut down everything after the riots in Central City, including the DEO. They only left the Department of Metahuman Affairs because it was still handling the legal fallout and they still tore that down in 1994."

When Presidential Order 57 had passed the desk and the Justice Society had disbanded, Task Force X had risen up in its place. Well-intentioned but ultimately a disaster and dissolved in 1959, it had been replaced by the Agency which had taken a less covert, less militaristic approach. Out of it had formed the Department of Extranormal Operations and its legal division, the Department of Metahuman Affairs. Both departments had concerned themselves with the legal protection and representation, and the semi-covert surveillance of metahumans. The DEO had been largely classed as a watchdog group, policing the actions of metahumans to ensure that they didn't violate another human's basic rights.

Coming up alongside it was E.A.G.L.E., which had handled the property damage, clean-up, and insurance claims left behind by any hero-villain battles. They had also established and staffed the prison of Belle Reve; the prison still operated with many metas still serving their sentences. And then T.H.U.N.D.E.R., forming just after Vietnam and concerning itself largely with the metas involved the Cold War, such as Red Trinity.

The Agency and its satellite organizations had come down seventeen years ago after the Central City riots and mass civilian protest had pushed Order 88 through Congress. Clark had remembered reading the newspaper articles with avid interest for a kid his age; an interest fuelled by his own growing powers. Back then, it had been nothing more than invulnerability and some greater-than-average strength. It had still been quite enough to give him the idea that he himself was a metahuman - back then, the only **logical** explanation for a boy who could fall on the grain thresher and have the thresher come off the worst.

Steve shrugged helplessly. "Look, I can't explain it. I wish I could." he said. "I was only a field agent for about a year. There was a lot they didn't tell me. I had to go find some of this out for myself."

"And what would that be?" Lois asked, scribbling rapidly. This was going to be a meaty article, she could tell. She would have some research to do, for sure.

"Trask's methods, for one. See, they don't tell you how butt-fucking insane he is when it comes to metahumans. I don't even know how to begin to tell you crazy he is." Steve admitted, running his hands through his hair. "He's perfectly normal for the first thirty seconds you meet him, but then he gets this gleam in his eye like he's trying to figure out how to best disembowel you and make it look like an accident."

"It's funny, I've had people say that about me, too." Lois commented lightly. "Now when you say he's butt-fucking insane about metahumans..."

Steve took a fortifying gulp of liquid courage before he started talking. "I only know about some of this stuff third-hand, from half-redacted files. Like... The Florida Keys, way back in the early spring of '99. Some business about- _-_ fish people? I think some of it made the papers, but it mostly reads like a combination of shark attacks and red tide and contaminated fish. If it wasn't for all the police reports saying some madman attacked them and the man's description happens to match Trask's to a tee, I'd believe it."

"I would too." Lois said brightly.

"And then in 2002, this hoedown in Central City. Some wealthy businessman was murdered. It sounded like a poisoning, but I hear Trask was red-hot to find some kind of meta interference that he blew the whole thing way out of proportion and spent a week bullying high school students.

"Oh, and there was a meteor shower in Kansas- _-_ "

"I know that one." Clark interrupted. "I was there. Smallville's my hometown and he was determined to wreck it. I'm aware how overzealous he can get."

"Not sure you know the half of it." Steve muttered, but nodded anyways.

"So what I'm getting out of this is that Trask takes a largely innocuous event that can't be explained right away and doesn't just highlight the discrepencies, but blows them up to the size of billboards and starts harassing people about it?" Lois summarized, scowling. "God, there's no way he could look good in context. This guy's a certifiable asshole."

"Not... exactly." Steve said hesitantly, staring briefly at the tabletop. "Three-quarters of the time I didn't know if a third of the stuff Trask was saying was even true, but... I think some of the crap he's said **is** true."

Clark had a sudden sense of foreboding. He had known all along that Trask wasn't completely off the mark where the Smallville Meteor Shower had been confirmed, but to hear someone else say it...

"Go on." Lois prompted.

Steve leaned in closer so he didn't have to talk so loud. "UFOs."

"UFOs?" Lois repeated, sharing a bewildered and somewhat startled look with Clark.

"I think they're UFOs." Steve partially corrected. "They look like UFOs, at least. Trask's storing them down at the SCU. I think that's what pissed off their lieutenant so badly, but he's really good at pissing off women in general."

It clunked into place for both reporters, why Detective Turpin had suggested they swing by the SCU when they were off work. Lois wasn't going to believe for a second that there were actually UFOs down at the SCU, but it was starting to become clear that Trask had brought along _something_ that proved he had a concrete reasoning behind his otherwise delusional belief.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Trevor." Lois said, flipping her notebook closed in a hurry. "It was a pleasure talking to you, I'll make sure you're an anonymous source, and good luck with job hunting in the future."

"Yes, thank you for talking to us." Clark agreed, grabbing their coats.

"We've got somewhere else we need to be, like, right now." Lois said. "We'll pay the tab on our way out."

And they hurried out like their heels were on fire. Clark didn't have to guess what Trask had stashed away in the SCU and Lois just wanted to see it- _-_ whatever it was.

Night had fallen for real by the time they were back on the sidewalk and making their way in the general direction of the SCU. The darkness was held back by the electric lights shedding an orange glow over the sidewalks. The wind had died, but the was snow was still coming out of the sky.

Lois turned up her collar and zipped her coat all the way up while Clark's phone chattered with an incoming text, just as he sent one out.

"Something's come up. Detective Turpin won't be able to meet us." he announced.

"Damn, and I really want to see what Trask stashed in the SCU." Lois grumbled.

"He's asking us to meet Detective John Jones instead." Clark added, getting to the end of the message. "Detective Jones is already waiting for us at the SCU evidence warehouse."

"Wow, John Jones. There's a generic name if I've ever heard one." Lois commented as they made their way up the sidewalk, against the flow of the crowd. "You gotta wonder what his parents were thinking. Our last name is Jones and now we've got a kid! Let's name him John! Great idea, honey! His middle name better not be anything like Jacob or Joseph or I'm gonna start calling him John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt."

"They probably liked the name." Clark figured, shrugging. He put his phone back in his pocket.

"I don't care if they liked the name or not. Some people need to be more aware of what they're naming their kids or else you end up with Harry Baals or Jolly Mangina or Dick Assman or Chardonnay Hooker or Hitler Mussolini or, my favorite, Jesus Condom."

Clark frowned. "Are those real names?"

"Yes. Yes, they are."

"Would it be redundant for me to comment that I think you made them up?"

"As much as I wish that was the case, no Smallville. They are very real names that unfortunately exist."

"John Jones is hardly the worst name." Clark pointed out. "It's definitely better than... Jolly Mangina."

He ended up lowering his voice, like he didn't want anyone to hear him uttering that train-wreck of a name.

"I know. But it's so- _-_ generic." Lois complained. "Not only the alliterative initials - _-_ and _yes_ , I am aware that **my** initials are L L - _-_ but two of the most common names in the entire United States. John and Jones. Last I checked, 'John' was number two on the list while 'Jones' was number four for last names. Forget being teased in school; he must have been ignored entirely."

"You're not one for mediocrity, are you." Clark commented.

"Mediocrity's boring. And when you have to deal with it all the time, it drives you insane." Lois claimed, scowling.

"What gave you that impression?" Clark wondered. Most likely, her last brush with mediocrity had left a bad taste in her mouth and sent her running back to the arms of a more exciting life.

"High school boyfriend, senior year. I don't even know how I started dating him. He was boring. Stable, but there was no pizazz in that relationship. It was like dating a sex doll, except there wasn't even any sex in it. We dated for two months and he was convinced we were going to be together for the rest of our lives and do the married dog two point five kids picket fence thing. The wholesome, American apple pie shebang." Lois explained. "I thought he was joking. Then I found out from his little brother that he was seriously looking at rings and he was going to propose to me right after graduation and I _knew_ that I had to break up with him because I was **not** going to be tied up as someone's good little baby-making housewife machine!"

With every word coming out of her mouth, Clark felt that he was understanding this woman a little more. Lois liked things that stood out. She liked the unexpected. She liked life to surprise her regularly. She wouldn't settle into a complacent routine with a fixed schedule.

And Metropolis was exciting enough to keep her interested. It moved fast enough to keep her engaged.

"I'd ask you to reciprocate on the stories except you don't have any old flames." Lois added.

"No, I really don't." Clark agreed. There had been Lana, in high school, but it had been rather one-sided and he had been observant enough to notice that nothing was going to come of it.

Besides, she had been gravitating towards Pete come the end of senior year. They had broken up after Lana had started college; it was hard to hold a relationship together from several thousand miles apart. The last Clark had seen of her, just before he had started college, Lana had been going steady with a nice-sounding guy from Paris.

There had also been Alicia, his stalker who had tried to run and ruin his entire life after he'd tried to break up with her on the account of her being a bat-shit psychopath. It was a segment of his life he really wasn't interested in bringing up with anyone, except maybe a therapist.

"How do you _live_ the way you do, Smallville?" Lois wondered, sounding both aghast and pitying. "I don't understand what motivates you to get up every morning if your first instinct isn't to grab life by the balls and have some fun!"

"I don't- _-_ " Clark stopped, realizing he didn't know how to reply to that.

Lois made a face. "I didn't mean _literally_! God, do all men think with their ballsacks?" she grumbled. Then she came to a short stop and looked back at Clark in semi-horror. "Wait. Smallville. Did you just almost try tell me that you don't masturbate?"

"No." Clark said quickly, plastering an appalled expression on his face, as if the very idea was inconceivable. "No! Of course I masturbate- _-_ Which- _-_ you didn't need to know..."

"Didn't need to know it, but somehow reassuring." Lois patted his arm. "It's a healthy thing to do. Very common. Good for stress levels."

But he didn't masturbate. He was well-proportioned _down there_. Everything looked textbook. But nothing happened. He had never woken up with morning wood or experienced the awkward public boner. His endocrine system wasn't structured the same way a human's was. Clark didn't have the human libido. Sex and lots of it was not something he felt the urge to pursue.

(What Clark didn't know - _-_ because it just hadn't come up and he hadn't thought to ask while talking to Dr. Sullivan - _-_ was that it had been nearly two millennia since a Kryptonian had last reproduced through the means of sexual intercourse. For nearly two millennia, everything had been done through through artificial insemination and artificial wombs and no bumping uglies had been required because in-utero pregnancy had actually become quite dangerous. Generations later, libido was practically non-existent, the erectile tissue was rather non-responsive to stimulation, and the pleasure center of the brain couldn't make the connection no matter how vigorously stimulation was applied - _-_ because Clark had _fucking tried_. That wasn't going to change just because he was on Earth.

Of course, Lois wasn't going to be finding out _that_ either.)

This close to the SCU, catching a cab was pointless and the bus system operated on a skeleton crew after certain hours, so it wasn't going the same way they were. All in all, Lois preferred to walk if the distance wasn't that far. Clark almost tried to talk her into taking a cab, just so he could get home faster.

But Lois had her majestic ocean-liner stride on again and all he could do was bob in her frothing wake.

Outside the SCU's evidence warehouse, Detective John Jones was hard to miss. His bald pate glinted in the white mercury light shining over the garage entrance and his heavy-browed cast his face into shadow. Clark still saw the glint of his eyes.

"Detective Jones. Turpin sent us." Lois said, once they were within normal conversation range.

"Yes, he had to clock out. Lieutenant Sawyer ordered him to go home and then followed him to ensure he got there." Detective Jones explained, extending his hand as Lois came within arm's reach. "It's good to meet you properly, Ms. Lane. I've heard a lot about you."

"Probably all the bad things." Lois shrugged.

He had a rich baritone voice, not completely unlike Lombarde's absolutely unfair deep baritone. But that was where the similarities ended. Jones's voice was more nuanced and sonorous and Lois could _almost_ feel it in her ribcage. She liked the cut of his jib already. He was tall, he was dark, and he was definitely handsome.

But it would be totally unprofessional to ask him on a date right now.

"Thank you for still seeing us, Detective Jones." Clark said, stepping forward to shake hands as well.

There was a second of hesitation from him, however. So infinitesimal that a normal person might not have noticed it. There was something very odd about Detective Jones. Something very odd that Clark couldn't put his finger on. It might have been the way that the detective didn't seem all that distinguishable. Even in a big city, a tall black man in the classic detective trench coat would have stood out a mile for how distinctive the sight was. Cops carried themselves with authority even when they were off-duty. But John Jones could have walked right into a crowd and vanished, Clark thought. He was as generic as his name and twice as forgettable. However, everything about him seemed to scream that he should have stood out far more than he actually did.

"It's not a problem." Jones nodded, clearly normal enough that he hadn't perceived the reporter's split-second of hesitation. "I understand this concerns you as well."

 _More than you could imagine._ Clark thought. Out loud, he said: "We've heard twice tonight that Trask might have something concrete to his ramblings?..."

"Once from Turpin and again from Agent Stoolie Canary." Lois elaborated. "They both suggested that Trask isn't nearly as insane as he sounds; that he might have proof of this- _-_ alien thing."

Frankly, it worried Clark that _two_ people had implied as much. It could very well mean that Trask had found both of the shuttles. It also suggested that Trask had deliberately gone looking for them, because Sounder's Gorge was so far out of the way...

Detective Jones turned his eyes to the black-haired man and Clark experienced the unsettling feeling that he was not being looked _at_ , but rather looked _through_. That he was being evaluated on everything from the size of his muscles to the sheen on his imitation silk tie. Detective Jones had dark colored eyes that didn't seem to be any one color in particular, but a mixture of generic browns and grays. But it wasn't the color that mattered. It was the way they seemed to bore right through the very back of Clark's skull in a long, unblinking stare.

This man was not blinking.

Then the detective presented a faint smile.

"It will be best for you to see this. I do not think I can explain it adequately." he said, gesturing for them to follow. He opened the door beside the vehicle entrance and let them inside.

"I don't know how much proof he has." Lois grumbled. "A man who rattles on about aliens and talks about executing my coworkers in front of a room-full of reporters has to got to have some serious... er..."

She trailed off when she saw Trask's overwhelming proof.

The two quartz-like shuttles had not been moved out of the warehouse and were likely not to be moved for the moment. Their gimbals remained stationary and they just hung approximately two and a half feet off the concrete floor with no visible means of support.

Lois and Clark wore looks of shock for two very different reasons.

"Um..." Lois managed, but that was it.

 _My ships!_ Clark thought, with a surge of anger that he clamped down on the moment he felt it. He couldn't keep it down completely. Those were his shuttles! And if Dr. Sullivan was on the nose about anything, the white shuttle contained the best link to his planet of origin! And Trask had walked off with them?

That bastard...

 _I'm taking them back. Tonight. I'll bury them even deeper this time!_

"So... It _is_ aliens?" Lois asked squeakily.

"I can neither confirm nor deny such a claim, Ms. Lane." Detective Jones said, shrugging. "But I can tell you that neither of these crafts appear to be of any earthly origins."

"Y-Yeah, no shit." Lois commented.

She approached the shuttles tentatively, as if she expected them to unfold into giant, unhappy robots. She moved with a kind of skittish, sideways motion until she had scuttled up to the side of the baby-bearing shuttle and reached out with a fingertip.

"It feels like polished quartz." she reported. She laid her hand flat on the surface. "Smallville, get your ass over here and check this out. This is crazy!... Where do you think they came from?"

"Quite a long ways from here, I would imagine." Detective Jones commented, his eyes skimming over the slightly singed edges where the friction of atmospheric entry had left its mark.

"I couldn't even begin to guess." Clark commented. That wasn't a lie. He didn't even know where Krypton was in the universe.

He started to move so he could stand beside Lois, already contemplating how he was going to make off with both of the shuttles and get them hidden before Trask found out they were missing. The anti-gravs appeared to be working still, so maybe it was simply a matter of getting them moving- _-_

 _What is that?_

It was the sound of knuckles striking flesh and shouting - _-_ bellowing, really. But in no language he was familiar with, coming from a hundred feet up and _falling_? Yes, eighty feet now- _-_ just fifty!- _-_ twenty!- _-_ It was Dr. Sullivan and Dr. Essex falling through the air _right on top of them_!- _-_

"Move!" Detective Jones commanded and Clark saw the man thrust both of his hands out as if he was going to grab them, but he was several feet out of reach. Except the second his arms extended fully, both of the reporters were rudely shoved away by an invisible force.

And the flailing bodies of Dr. Sullivan and Dr. Essex crashed through the ceiling in a shower of shingles and beams, rebounding off the white shuttle before they even hit the floor. They didn't stop screaming at each other for even a second, in that odd language that Clark didn't recognize, swinging their fists and elbows at each other so quickly the motions blurred and both men appeared to be vibrating, distorting them.

 _Lois! She can't see this!_ Clark thought frantically, searching the warehouse for where Lois had landed. If she saw any of this, she would have questions. And they would all be questions he didn't even have answers to.

' _I've got her.'_ rang an intrusive voice in Clark's head that sounded exactly like Detective Jones. _'If you can do something about that...'_

There was a sense of someone tilting their head to brawling scientists and then Clark saw the detective bodily hauling Lois across the rest of the warehouse to the door on the other side amid her loud protests, her line of sight mostly blocked by his torso. Then they were through the door and gone and all of that had occurred in a matter of five to ten seconds.

Clark lunged across the floor and punched Dr. Essex in the ribs.

If he had been human, the blow most certainly inflicted fatal damage, perhaps to the point of rupturing the ribcage and everything in it. But Dr. Essex was not human and the impact only skewed the trajectory of his next punch. His knuckles cratered the floor beside Dr. Sullivan's head.

"That's it!" Dr. Sullivan shouted, finally gaining the upper hand. He jabbed the pressure point at the base of the throat and drove his knee into Dr. Essex's gut, which gave him enough leverage to throw the man off, and then scrambled to his feet to stand beside Clark, nodding to him as if to say _Good of you to join us._

Dr. Essex went halfway across the warehouse before he stopped in midair and oriented himself upright. The air around him swirled for a moment as he found his balance.

"That was a weak punch, son of Jor-El." he growled. "I'll show you how it's done!"

And he catapulted forward.

"Oh c'mon." Clark moaned.

In the blink of an eye, Dr. Essex was ramming shoulders first into the younger man's chest. Clark instinctively dug his heels into the concrete, but the collision knocked him right off his feet. He hit the floor with a nasty-sounding crunch and the feeling of something giving way under him and he sincerely hoped that was just the concrete. The full weight of Dr. Essex's body fell on top of him and a large hand wrapped around his neck in an sort of sideways mirror of the first night they had met.

"Watch closely! This is how you throw a punch!" he said as he balled his fist and wound back his arm. Like a spring, it rocketed forward. Clark _just_ caught it before it surely would have shattered his nose along with the surrounding bones.

"Ah! Keep him busy for a moment, would you?" Dr. Sullivan requested as he scrambled over to the nose of the shuttle pod and hoped that his daughter had had the foresight to include his family's coat-of-arms into the recognition matrix or they weren't getting anywhere.

"I'll try!" Clark grunted.

But the thing was, he wasn't a fighter. His father had taught him how to throw a punch. _'Throw a good punch once and you'll probably never have to do it again.'_ he'd said. But it had never gone beyond that, because he shouldn't have to find himself in a situation where fisticuffs was the only way out. Clark didn't have the instincts or the muscle memory that a good fighter developed over the years.

Also, a single good punch from him could crush a man's skull, so he had rather held off on the idea of punching people.

"Is that all you've got? Pathetic!" Dr. Essex spat laughingly. "It's all the same with your House! _Shvaboliyiq_ , the lot of you! Too long tinkering with your toys! You're always hunched over desks! Bad posture runs in the family!"

"Is that all _you've_ got?!" Clark shot back, more insulted by the sub-par quality of the insults. His bad posture was _manufactured_ for the sake of the masquerade and he wasn't ashamed by his lack of fighting experience. Okay, it was inconvenient right now, but he wasn't ashamed of it. "If you hate me enough to kill me, at least put some imagination into it!"

Dr. Essex bared his teeth in something less of a smile and not quite a snarl and his eyes glowed blue-white. Then he laser-eyed Clark in the chest.

He had always imagined that it would hurt at least a little, given that his own heat-beams consistently set things on fire. He could still feel heat, just not pain. It wouldn't damage him, he always thought, but it might be a little uncomfortable.

Oh boy, he'd been wrong about that.

Clark didn't think there was a time when he remembered what it felt like to experience proper pain. No childhood of scraped knees and elbows, or skinned palms for him. Just a momentary sense of discomfort and then he was on his feet again. His clothing tore before his skin did.

This was not that.

This was hard to describe, because Clark had never actually been in pain before. It was furiously white-hot and made him think of all those volcano documentaries he had seen with the lava erupting from the crater because it felt like that was what his chest was doing.

He had no idea how long it went on because, out of sheer denial for what was happening, his brain just shut things down.

* * *

-0-

yes that's steve trevor


	17. Outside the Lines

The character of Dr. Sullivan/Sul-Van is actually (semi)canonical. He makes his one and only appearance in the pilot episode of Superman: the Animated Series. Like a lot of the canon bits I'm using, he's been tweaked and altered until we've got this end result.

* * *

Chapter Seventeen: Outside the Lines

 _Foresight, Lara. A good mechanic always has foresight._ Dr. Sullivan thought when the recognition matrix gave him the green light as he presented the sigil badge. The hatch split open like a diamond to reveal the cocoon-like interior that had seen his grandson safely across twenty-seven lightyears.

The engineer rolled his eyes as Nam-Ek started insulting Clark's apparent lack of physicality, just because the boy had come from a rather long line of scientifically-inclined people who didn't exactly get up to egregiously physical things. Honestly, Nam-Ek acted like his father's side of the family weren't all scientists themselves. Yes, his mother's side had a proud tradition of serving in the planetary militia, but it wasn't her footsteps that Nam-Ek had followed in.

He found the crystals located towards the front of the pod, tucked securely into a lockbox that opened at his touch. Inside were four oval-shaped stones that looked like white opals, but the rainbow of colors playing on the surface moved like darting fish.

 _Four of them? Well done. That should be over four centuries worth of continuous history._ Dr. Sullivan thought proudly.

And then Clark shrieked, a hair-raising, agonizing sound that sent such a spike of adrenaline through the engineer because he didn't _need_ a DNA test to know that this boy was his grandson and, more importantly, _Lara's_ son. Really, one of the last things left of Krypton and to hear him to shriek like that and smell the sizzle of flesh...

"Kal!"

Dr. Sullivan may not have been particularly athletic, but he didn't need to be in order to take advantage of the abilities that Earth had given him.

Stuffing the lockbox into his coat pocket, he leapt over the shuttle pod and the gimbals without even a running start and aimed a flying kick at Nam-Ek's head. The idiot barely saw it coming in time, unfortunately, but he was forced to pull away from lasering Clark in the chest. He scrambled off the twenty-something just as Dr. Sullivan struck out with his other leg. He skittered around back towards the shuttles and Dr. Sullivan landed between his grandson and the rival scientist. Clark was still breathing, his heart still beating, but those patches of skin on his chest were red and blistered and a little too singed for anyone's comfort.

"You'd protect him, Sul-Van? Do you even know what vile thing your daughter did?" Nam-Ek spat hatefully.

"Used her womb for its original purpose, as I recall." Dr. Sullivan replied. "How is that vile? The uterus evolved for the very purpose of gestation! It was your ancestors who set all of that back!"

"In-utero insemination is illegal!" Nam-Ek reminded him. "You know what could have happened! It could have been a calamity that Krypton would not have recovered from!"

"Krypton was already facing a calamity it wasn't going to recover from!" Dr. Sullivan pointed out. "Between the yellow sun and the blue sky, I'm sure it hasn't escaped your notice that we are on a very different planet altogether! In any case, he tested clean!"

"That's not a chance we can take!" Nam-Ek snarled. "The House of El must be tried and punished for its infractions against the High Council!"

Then he turned his head and fired a concentrated burst of heat vision at the baby shuttle, between the pod and the engine casing.

"Wait! That's a Phantom Drive!" Dr. Sullivan shouted, but it was too late. The crystal shattered like it was a thin sheet of glass, but fortunately, nothing went up in a fireball like it could have.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the worst of it.

"Jor-El, that was stupid. It could have blown up mid-transit." Dr. Sullivan shook his head.

"I know." Nam-Ek agreed, retrieving the Phantom Zone projector from the shattered casing. He held it up, tapping his fingers on the glyphs etched onto the metal braces. "It could have been disastrous if we'd lost this before we could use it. This holds the future of Krypton and it's not reacting." he realized, because it should have started activating by now.

Dr. Sullivan smiled. "My son-in-law really was never _that_ stupid." he said. "Jor-El isn't going to leave a Phantom Zone projector just lying around for anyone to get their hands on without tying it to the biometrics of the House of El."

Nam-Ek's brown skin started to color faintly red and his eyes crackled distinctly blue-white, because the only projector he could find, possibly the very last one in the known universe, and he couldn't even use it.

Before the geneticist could actually do anything, Dr. Sullivan lunged forward and punched Nam-Ek in the teeth. He didn't expect to do any real damage, but it was more than enough to make the geneticist reel back and give him some breathing room.

" _Atazitni huura madil, liazorutani Thee'ton Sul-van, Zrytrev ren Van!_ " Dr. Sullivan shouted at the shuttles, hurrying to grab Clark off the floor.

The shuttles, the last of Lara's stellar engineering, beeped their responding affirmatives. There was a new whine in the air as sleep mode deactivated and he couldn't help but grin a little. He didn't know why he had doubted his daughter's skills, even briefly.

" _Koris pener!_ " he ordered. " _Bormoc avt_!"

The shuttles obeyed beautifully. The command was, of course, to initiate flight and follow him. So they turned, their audial centers tuning to the sound of his voice, already programmed into their memory banks. They wouldn't be deterred now and promptly bowled Nam-Ek in their programmed haste to obey.

Dr. Sullivan grinned a little wider at the geneticist's yelp and heaved Clark over his shoulders. Then he kicked off from the ground and flew away from the hole already in the ceiling. The shuttles followed, smashing through the damaged ceiling and spiraling after him up through the snow and the clouds. Up to where the stars shone brightly and the moon gleamed.

Dr. Sullivan didn't know how far he ascended, but he left the clouds and the city far below and reached the point were the air felt a little too thin, even for him. Behind him, the shuttles heaved to a halt, like breaching whales. He checked Clark's breathing and pulse, and found them both acceptable. Then he put the moon to his left and flew south.

* * *

Lois had a funny feeling everything was about to go to hell the moment she saw Clark shoot an alarmed look towards the ceiling and she had known him just long enough now to start recognizing his tells. You really got to learn about a man's danger tells when breaking and entering was the norm of journalism and Clark really did seem to have a sixth sense about getting out before it got bad.

But before she could ask what was up, Detective Jones shouted "Move!" and something that was far too broad for a hand pushed her away from the shuttle just as the ceiling broke. Something large and shouting loudly bounced off the gimbals of the white shuttle and hit the floor with a ground-shaking thud. Lois didn't get her head up in time to see what was going on because Detective Jones grabbed her under the shoulders and started to bodily haul her away.

"Hey! Hey, let go of me! I can run on my own!" she shouted, kicking her feet out, albeit half-heartedly. "What about Clark?!"

"He is closer to the other side of the warehouse. He will get out that way much more easily." Detective Jones replied, dragging her through the doorway. It swung shut behind them.

"You seriously underestimate the farm boy, you know!" Lois said, struggling against the man's surprisingly strong grip. He had pinned both of her arms at the elbow. "He's got this thing about helping out when he shouldn't! I mean, it's a trait about him you just can't help but admire a little bit, but I seriously think he'd get himself into some major trouble if I wasn't around!"

"He is not that stupid." Detective Jones said flatly, half-pulling her up the corridor to the rotunda. "We are going out the front."

"Where's this 'we' coming from?" Lois demanded. "And where do you think you get off dragging me around like this? I am not a sack of potatoes! And there's a story back there! I can smell it!"

"I do not think this is a story you want to get involved in." Detective Jones said.

"Ah, you need to spend more time talking to Turpin the Terrible about my track record." the black-haired reporter said, smirking.

"I'm actually very aware of your record and that is why I am not about to let you run off on your own." the detective admitted.

"You think you can stop me?" Lois challenged.

Detective Jones stopped just before the stairs back up to the rotunda and released her, only letting her turn around before he took hold of her shoulders in a firm grip. "Miss Lane, I do apologize for this, but the more important thing than the story is to get you safely out of the building." he said.

"Don't give me that! The story always- _-_ always comes... It comes first..." Lois trailed off weakly, because the detective's dark brown eyes were suddenly rather mesmerizing and she just couldn't concentrate on what she was trying to insist upon.

They were quite nice brown eyes the detective had; ochre dark and the faintest hints of umber and a good limbal ring to set them off rather fetchingly. They were like the eyes of a long-time friend, someone you could really trust when the going got rougher than usual. Eyes that said _'trust me'_ in a way that suggested no deceit.

"Please vacate the premises, Miss Lane, as quickly as you can." said Detective Jones's voice, though it seemed to be coming from unusually far away. "Get as far away as you can. You'll be safer."

"Okay." Lois agreed with a compliancy that she fleetingly realized was uncharacteristic of her.

But then the thought was gone and she was trotting up the stairs. For some reason, leaving the SCU sounded like a very good idea. Odd, it wasn't her idea; she somewhere deep down that it wasn't her idea because she would never have ideas like that one and she tended not to listen when people had ideas like that. But she was already half-jogging across the rotunda by the time she concluded such an idea wasn't hers. Everything seemed to slide past her as though she was dreaming, bearing a quality that seemed a little too shiny and a tad unrealistic.

It wasn't her idea to leave, but it seemed like the only one she could muster up.

She was out the main doors and back into the cold winter night before she could blink. The air nipped at her ears and nose as she broke into a much more pronounced run down the sidewalk. She nearly ran over the unsuspecting worker clearing the walkway of snow and thinking vaguely that she oughta be turning back _Why the fuck was she running?!_

Lois threw her arms forward like she was trying not to run into a wall and skidded to a halt just shy of the next crosswalk, staring at the traffic with a sense of disorientation and confusion. She was three blocks away from the SCU and she had no clear idea how she had gotten that far in the first place. She felt like she had just woken up from one of those half-asleep dreams where you were vaguely aware of what was going on around you and then clarity bitch-smacked you.

Detective Jones had told her to leave, but she wouldn't just _obey_...

"Sonuavabitch! He whammy-hammered my brain! He's a mind-whammy meta!" Lois realized, admittedly not sure how she had made it all the way to that conclusion, but seriously. Mindless agreement was not something she would do. Leaving when there was a story to be had? _Never_.

Detective Jones had pulled a little Harry Potter mind-control bullshit to get her out of the building.

"Oh, I'm giving him a piece of my mind all right!" Lois growled, spinning around on the balls of her feet. "Let's see how he likes having someone shove it down his throat! No one whammy-hammers Lois Lane!"

She made to march back to the SCU and take Detective Jones down at the knees. Metahuman or not, she was going to make a scarf out of him. She was ninety-nine percent sure that he had gone and violated the human rights edicts that the original DMHA had laid down about the mind-whammy thing, so there were going to be _words_.

A loud ***crack!*** like a gunshot split the relative silence and Lois ducked reflexively alongside everyone who wasn't running away or pulling out their smartphones. A visible cloud of black smoke burst into the air somewhere just around the SCU's building. It was easy to spot the accompanying glow of flames slowly creeping up the surrounding buildings.

"Agh, not again!" Lois growled, kicking off into a run. "I swear to god, Smallville, if you get caught in _another_ explosion...!"

And trailed off into grumbling under her breath about all the ways she was going to kill him.

Clark was pretty tough, she had come to learn in between all the breaking in and then making narrow escapes through a second-floor window. He had landed some jumps she hadn't expected from him and did display rather more agility than one could anticipate from someone whose own shoes conspired to trip him. All that hard farm work and fresh country air had toughened him up and maybe when the adrenaline was going, he was confident enough to do things that resembled parkour.

Nonetheless, he had been lucky enough to survive just _one_ explosion with barely a scratch. Making it through a second one would be pushing that luck something fierce, so frankly, she had better find him standing on the sidewalk.

She didn't find him.

As Lois got close enough to see exactly where the explosion had originated, she didn't see Clark anywhere in the crowd of people crowding in on the sidewalk around the SCU building. He was so noticeable; she could have recognized his shoulders anywhere. But he was not standing around and watching the evidence warehouse of the SCU burn. The entire roof was very much on fire, the flames reaching higher into the air as the witnesses watched.

"Dammit." Lois hissed, taking her phone out of her purse and turning away from the scene. She fired off a _'where are you'_ text to Clark and made her way out of the crowd.

Places like that warehouse didn't just spontaneously catch on fire; they were specifically designed not to, due to the often sensitive nature of the items being stored there. It took a bomb for the roof to be burning already. Lois could only conclude that the fire had been deliberately set, but slipshod in its execution. It wouldn't take very much to get people believing that something was being covered up.

Trask. It had to be the psychotic agent trying to cover his tracks. He had been storing some pretty big goddammned _UFOs_ there - _-_ things that would be incredibly recognizable as UFOs to the general populace. And Trask must have realized that he'd been rumbled and so had sent something to burn the place and the UFOs to the ground.

(She didn't know, of course, that the cause of the fire was Nam-Ek venting his frustration on the electrical system.)

Lois pulled up Clark's number and called him. She got his voicemail.

"Smallville! First, where the fuck are you? I'm heading back to the _Planet_ , so meet me there." she ordered. "Because second, I think we've made Trask nervous. I don't know if you're seeing the burning building from where you're at, but the warehouse we were in a moment ago is on fire right now and you know what he was keeping in there. We've got to expose him before he gets the chance to really bury everything, so I'll be at my desk doing research. Bring coffee."

She ended the call and hurried up the sidewalks back to the _Daily Planet_. There wasn't time to wait for Clark to call back. The best thing he could do was to show up at her desk with that coffee and she might not ask him where he had been.

The fifty-seventh floor newsroom was as empty as Lois had ever seen it at seven o'clock during the winter. With the sun going down as early as five, no one wanted to stick around after a full day's work. The night crew was on the floor above and the bulk of the work on tomorrow morning's edition had already moved off from the reporters. Lois was so used to the place humming with work and people that the silence and emptiness was jarring. It was a little like being in a school after hours and you knew no one was around.

She fired up her computer and rifled around in her desk for a fresh notepad and checked the working pens and dragged a stack of post-it notes out of the wire-mesh desk organizer that had fallen to chaos within a week of purchasing it.

She wanted to figure out where all Trask had gotten around to in the last few years. In order to build an appropriately scathing article against him, she needed to prove that he was no sterling member of society, much less a productive one. More like one who needed to be excised from society entirely.

Lois connected to the internet and got to work.

After the first few passes, she realized that Trask hadn't been making much of an effort to cover his tracks, or at least his name hadn't been erased from any search algorithms. Still, he was rather easier to find than she'd thought he'd be.

"And I was hoping for a challenge." she lamented.

The most recent incident involving the likes of Jason Trask traced back to just this past spring in Ontario, Canada. Another alleged UFO sighting; Lois had seen the videos and followed the story until someone had debunked it all as a hoax. She had to admit that she was a skeptic on the whole alien thing, but she also had to admit that there had been something _mighty fishy_ about the thing.

The UFO sightings had been staggered over a period of three weeks, showing up about every two days at 3:44 in the morning on the dot and sticking around until 3:48. There had been four daylight sightings and all the videos had featured _something_ moving too bizarrely and too jarringly to be a military aircraft or a whacked-out bird or some kid's RC helicopter.

In between the lines of the story there had been Agent Trask.

He wasn't given a name. Most of the newspapers knew him as the Man in Black, a presumed government agent trying to cover up the truth and dragging people away for lengthy interrogations, many of them returning with fresh bruises. One of the blogs covering the sightings had gotten rather deep into describing the man's appearance and behavior and it matched the agent to a tee.

Working back from there, Trask seemed to have appeared all over North America and then some, appearing as far south as Panama after some rumors that mermaid-like creatures had gotten briefly trapped in the lock system, and as far north as Barrow, Alaska after another round of UFO encounters.

By the beginning of 2004, the proliferation of social media dribbled away and Lois was left to trawl through archived newspapers and outdated blogs left over from the bare bones of what the internet had once been.

There wasn't much information on the apparent fracas in Central City back in 2002. Either really nothing had happened or someone with enough money had paid to smother the information. Given that two of the people involved were Vivian and Meredith Furie, (Vivian, still a successful actress and her daughter Meredith, the current CEO of nationally ranked Atlas Industries), information smothering was highly likely to have occurred for the protection of their privacy, seeing as the dead businessmen was Atlas Industries's former CEO Gregor Furie, the husband and father of the aforementioned. Nonetheless, Trask's name still turned up in one of the police reports that had been made public and one such report was indeed about his verbal and partially physical harassment of some high school students. It seemed that he had gone after the daughter of a cop. And as if he hadn't been stupid enough to hassle _just_ a policeman's daughter, Trask had likewise turned on the ward of one of Central City's former mayors.

 _Fool_. Lois snorted.

His name also dotted reports spanning the length and breadth of the nation, almost always connected to an unprovoked assault on someone of the female persuasion and usually regarding a local happening that looked quite strange out of context, but soon proved to have a sensible rationale. More UFO and Bigfoot sightings. A few other times it had been breaking and entering, theft, and arson. Every time, Trask had waved his government agent badge to escape everything down to a parking ticket.

Lois dug back into 1999. She skipped over the Smallville incident, since she could just badger Clark for the details (whenever he turned up) and read up on what had happened in the Florida Keys just a few weeks before the meteor shower.

It only superficially matched what Agent Stoolie Canary had said. Clearly, he hadn't actually turned up any of the newspapers from Tempest Key or else he might have sung a different tune. Because it was way more than supposed shark attacks, contaminated fish, or red tide.

One day, early spring, shredded bodies had started washing up on the beaches. At first, it has been assumed to be a shark attack. In the warm, semi-tropical waters with tourist season starting and the seasonal migrations beginning, it wouldn't have been all that unusual. But an expert had gotten a look at the bite wounds and declared that it was no goddamn shark he had ever seen.

Then the frequency of the attacks had started to increase and the bodies had turned up in increasingly shredded states until the victims might have gotten in a fight with a cheese grater. The teeth marks were too small, the shark expert had said. Too pointed and needle-like and too close together. The positioning of the teeth had been much more akin to that of a human jaw. Slightly elongated, but otherwise very human-like.

It only got more baffling from there.

A pod of pilot whales had beached themselves, all of them suffering open sores and fevers and it had taken two days to coordinate the air-lifting effort to get the whales to a medical facility to be quarantined and treated. The beaches had been closed for the remainder of the week to test for contaminants in the water. A sudden surge of bioluminescent algae had coated the surf. Red tide, which had been presumed to be the cause of the kamikaze seagulls that deliberately rammed themselves into the ground or into buildings, with more still just dropping dead in midair. Dead jellyfish from the wrong part of the world. And a freak hurricane. During all of this, Trask had been in and out of the scene, screaming at people and causing more damage by himself than anything else could have managed.

The freak hurricane seemed to have been the end of it. A coast guard captain named Tom Curry had ridden out into the raging storm for reasons no one could have imagined and had come limping back in the morning, his boat listing in the water and half-sunk by the time he had made it to the docks. The damage to the boat had been one of the last odd things for the community. The hull had had long scratches down its length, as though a bear had attacked it. Every window had broken. The entire super-structure had looked like it was just going to sink like wet cardboard.

The last piece of weirdness - _-_ Captain Curry's eighteen-year old son Arthur had disappeared without a trace, never to be heard from again. A statement about it from Curry had read: _"Don't bother with a search. I know where he is and what he's doing. He'll be fine. He's my son."_

Then life on Tempest Key had gone back to normal. No more red tide or dead gulls and all of the pilot whales had recovered from their sickness with no sign that they had been ill at all. Trask had run off to attend to the meteors in Smallville, leaving more than four dozen hospitalized people behind him.

There was a massive mystery there. Lois wouldn't have needed her paranoia to sense it. As much as she would have liked to dig into it further, it wasn't fully relevant at this stage of the investigation. For now, she was just following Trask's trail back to the start. All she needed to know was where he had been. She could investigate his egregious list of wrong-doings later.

Reports of the man were thinner on the ground from 1998 and on back. Either Trask had been less active or more discreet. He popped up here and there in places like Boston and Raleigh and Bismark and San Antonio for pretty much the same offenses, though they had a much more perverse and violent undertone, but the police reports turned up heavily redacted or obviously altered (witness statements not so much and she scribbled down names as she went). There was a passing reference to him with 1997's Lights Over Phoenix; another alleged UFO sighting. Finally, Trask reappeared in prominence in mid-1996 in Brookings, Oregon for attacking a young woman named Rose Canton.

Not that Miss Canton had been entirely faultless in the matter. She had a long rap sheet for petty theft and drunken recklessness and most of the police in town had known her by name. She had also been spontaneously causing plants to grow and take over the town street by street. But the violence with which Trask had attacked her had put her pretty square in victim territory. Five months before she was fit to stand trial for several accounts of negligent manslaughter. Lois thought it was something of a blessing that Miss Canton had been found not guilty by reason of insanity and committed to the Middle Haven Psychiatric Care Facility in Central City.

Trask has slipped through the grasping fingers of the law just like he would every single time.

Prior to 1996, he became nearly impossible to track, proving that he had been at least more discreet in his actions or someone had been much more actively erasing his record. Lois didn't find any mention of the man until a Washington D.C. newspaper dated March of 1992. The headline article featured a black and white photo of Trask shaking hands with a stern-faced military man. The first few lines of the article announced that Jason Trask had been formally made the new director of the Department of Metahuman Affairs.

"Well there it is." Lois said in smug satisfaction, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms.

Now it made sense. Bureau 39 wasn't _just_ all that was left of the DEO, but it really **was** the Department of Metahuman Affairs given a make-over. Trask had his eyeballs on any situation that presumed the presence of a metahuman or an alien because that was his job.

But... The DMHA was the _legal_ branch. It had dealt with the courts and the lawyers and the lawmakers. The DEO had been the watchdog group that policed metahumans openly breaking the law. They were the ones who had enforced the "don't whammy-hammer the regular people with your power". The DEO had had the authority to arrest metahumans and charge them with crimes. They had been the one to send the lawbreakers to court, to gather the evidence that could confine them to Belle Reve.

Trask had been put in charge of the DMHA, which did none of that. He was technically charged with maintaining the legal representation of metahumans in the court system and providing them with legal advice and making sure they knew what the law was so they wouldn't get arrested. Instead, he was terrorassing around the continent searching for metahumans whether or not they were in active states of wrong-doing.

Rose Canton had not been entirely innocent. For sure, causing massive plant growth that sundered properties, leveled homes, and left people needing urgent medical attention fell into a category of wrong-doing. It was well within the limits of the law to bring her in, but the brutal force that Trask had used should have gotten **him** arrested too.

And then you had people like Clark, who was neither a metahuman nor had he done anything wrong, unless you counted simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. That was as much as Lois could suss out from the Smallville situation. Maybe Clark had had one of those freaky adrenaline surges that had allowed him to lift half a car off a person and Trask had long since believed that such feats of superhuman strength simply could not be possible unless you were actually superhuman. An otherwise innocuous situation taken right out of context.

The agent was overstepping his legal restrictions as it was by actively attempting to hunt down and arrest metahumans, purported or not. But it was also disturbingly telling that no one was stopping him. No one was even trying to hold him accountable for his actions.

 _Guess it's time someone started._ Lois thought. _But who's the asshole who's been letting him get away with this bullshit in the first place?_

She scrolled back up the article about Trask's appointment to the photo at the top of the page, where the agent was shaking hands with the stern-looking military officer, hoping for a name. But she didn't need to look for one. She already knew who the man was.

General Sam Lane.

 _Dad!_ Lois had to bite the inside of her cheek just so she didn't shout out loud. It would have been a string of profanity, frankly. Of all the people who could have been putting their fingers in this, it was her dad who turned up at the top of the list.

That explained Trask's reaction much earlier today. He hadn't been scared of her threat, but rather alarmed by her connection to the general. Alarmed, perhaps, because he had been moving without authorization?

In that case, he should have been. General Lane was hardly a great dad, but he was a scary fucking military officer.

"Hey, Clark," Lois started, turning her chair around to find that she was addressing an empty room. Clark's desk was several behind hers, but it was in her line of sight. It was still empty and it looked like the farm boy hadn't even come and gone without her realizing it. No coffee, for one.

It was half-past eleven.

Lois snatched up her phone and unlocked the screen to check her text history and to see if she had missed a call. But there had been no activity on her phone since she had called Clark some four hours ago.

"Shit." she hissed.

She started to close out the windows and tabs while pulling the numbers for city hospitals out of her rolodex.

"Metropolis General Hospital? Yeah, this is Lois Lane from the _Daily Planet_. Did you happen to admit anyone in the last few hours from that explosion down by the Met P.D. Special Crimes Unit? A colleague of mine was right in that area when it happened and I haven't heard from him since. No one by the name of Clark Kent? Are you sure? Black hair and glasses, probably super-polite and dorky? He would have been carrying a press badge. Okay, thank you."

She called the rest on the way out of the building.

There were six hospitals in New Troy alone and one was specifically a burn unit. The two closest to the SCU had indeed received several patients to their clinics - _-_ people who had been on the sidewalk when the warehouse had blown, getting scraped and battered with the debris - _-_ but none with injuries so severe that they were admitted to a burn unit. The only truly significant injury was from the person who had hit the deck and fractured their elbow on the landing. If Clark was in a hospital, then he wasn't in New Troy and there were just too many hospitals in the city for Lois to call them all in one night. She could make an effort, but it was halfway to midnight and she didn't really feel up to marathon-calling right now.

She waved to Todd who manned the lobby desk after-hours and stepped out onto the tan bricks of the plaza outside the building. It was a nice plaza, known as Planet Square for all the planet-themed shops to be found around the perimeter of it (from the Venus Beauty Boutique to the Mars Candy Company, Mercury Messengers, and the skin care salon called The Great Red Spot). It had a great big fountain as its centerpiece and in keeping with the planetary theme, it featured the solar system with eight planets plus Pluto (the fountain had been commissioned _before_ Pluto had even been discovered so it had been added in later, was very obviously not a part of the original design, and people kept putting flowers in the fountain pool as sort of a memorial to Pluto's stripped status).

"Miss Lane?"

The call of her name made Lois break her stride for a moment, but she just as quickly resumed walking like she hadn't heard just in case it was someone with less than innocent intentions.

"Hey! Miss Lane!"

And this time, running footsteps. Lois turned around to meet the individual head on and found that Agent Stoolie Canary, better known as Steve Trevor, was sprinting up to her.

"Something I can help you with?" she asked mildly, the hand in her coat pocket curling around the canister of mace all the same. Up close, however, she saw that Steve was clearly disheveled and smelled a bit like he had just crawled out of a dumpster. "Are you okay? You look like you just sprinted across half the city."

"Feels like I did. Do you happen to know some place I can lay low for the night?" he asked, definitely breathless. "I nearly got mugged in my hotel room half an hour ago. It's Trask. He's trying to kill me. I need to get off the grid."

A prickle went down across Lois's scalp and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Trask was out tying off loose ends and the all-American Steve here had babbled like a creek. As much as she should have expected this, she hadn't. You didn't just _walk_ out of an organization like Bureau 39 without a stringent gag order attached to your pink slip.

And that made Lois and Clark just as much of a target too, because Steve had babbled to them and now they were on the verge of discovering all of Trask's dirty little secrets and he wasn't going to like that.

"Sounds like I'm going to need to do the same thing, considering what you told me. Hang tight, I know these streets. " Lois commented, beckoning for the former agent to follow her. "Where did you last see him?"

"Ten minutes ago. He was heading up 29th Street the last I saw the car." Steve answered. "I was hiding in the trash behind a Mongolian barbecue joint." he added, spreading his arms and looking down at himself as if he expected to see stains.

"I know the place. C'mon, we'll head north into Midtown." Lois suggested. If her apartment was on the list of places to check, then heading in the opposite direction was the best thing she could do and if she had to take Steve with her, then so be it.

They made it to the edge of the plaza and a none-too-subtle black SUV screeched up around the corner, its tires squealing for grip on the damp pavement. It had Trask leaning out of the passenger-side window with a semi-automatic and he depressed the trigger the moment Lois and Steve were in his sight-lines.

* * *

-0-

straight up easter egging all up in here yo.


	18. The Answer to What's Out There

Well, this has just been a week of kittens and completed stories! We're finally looking into adopting kittens, so that's put me in a perpetual good mood all week.

As a result, I've been balls to the wall on Story 2 to get it finished and I did! I was up until 4:30 in the morning cranking out that final chapter, but I am proud to announce that Story 2 is now complete! I'm going to let it sit for a few days before I do some minor spell-check/editing, but that's technical stuff.

I may be able to shift to a weekly update schedule by the end of the summer. I can't make any guarantees just yet (Monranr, lookin' at you), since that depends mostly on how quickly Story 3 progresses. Given that the first ten or so chapters of Story 3 is going to be revision/rewriting of existing material, I might get much further than I'm currently predicting. Optimistically, I'm hoping to make that shift at the beginning of September.

* * *

Chapter Eighteen: The Answer to What's Out There

Planet Square was hexagonal shaped as opposed to square. The main entrance of the northwest corner was barred from vehicle traffic by three decorative Roman columns topped by a granite facade. With an old office building on one side and a bike rental shop on the other, the entrance only had narrow sight lines in between the columns. As soon as Lois heard the pop-crack of gunfire, she dove for the relative safety behind one of the columns. Next to her, Steve Trevor tucked and rolled for cover with such precision that his tactical instructor would have nodded proudly. He came up drawing a Smith & Wesson 910 from the pocket of his coat and flicked off the safety.

Trask was wasting bullets shooting at the columns, as he couldn't actually find a good angle from which to even nick either of them. But he was as automatic and mechanical as the rifle in his hands, mindlessly firing bullets as though someone was pressing a button on him.

Lois and Steve shared a look across the six or so feet of space that separated them. From Steve, it was a _'following your lead here now what'_ kind of look. Which was bad, because Lois didn't actually have a plan at this exact moment. But she knew the value of not letting that show and thought quickly.

Obviously, the first thing they had to do was get _out of here_. Boxed in on all sides, not many avenues of escape, and not much cover from gunfire. It was definitely a kill zone. One well-timed, well-aimed bullet each and they were laid out on a morgue slab.

They had to get out and it was starting to seem that there was only one good way to do that.

She caught Steve's eye again and looked meaningfully at the pistol in his hand, then tilted her head towards Trask and his driver, and then to the office building on her right, making tiny gestures with her finger to make sure the point was better made. Steve nodded and gave the gun a quick check. In the quick half-second in between Trask firing the rifle, the former sergeant spun out from behind the column and lined the handgun up on his sight, firing at almost the same instant.

Lois moved then, dodging out from behind the column to dive for the office building to her right. There was a second crack-pop when her back hit the thick stone wall. There was a third shot and this time Lois heard the crack of glass and the fizzle of electricity and sudden darkness fell over this particular corner of the plaza. Steve was scrambling to join her just a moment later.

"They ducked. I hit the door and took out the driver's window instead." he reported. "Damn, I think I only have a half-clip." He scowled. "Do you have a plan, Miss Lane?"

"The way I see it, there are two options. We can get out through the _Daily Planet_ 's parking garage and make a run for it- _-_ No, I don't own a car, by the way. Or we can take down Trask and the driver ourselves and steal their car." Lois suggested.

"I don't think I like either of them."

"I didn't say they were _good_ plans." She nudged him. "C'mon, army boy, which one do _you_ think is the better option?"

"That's Air Force boy, Miss Lane. The car would get us mobile faster, but it's more likely to be lo-jacked and they could run us off the road. On foot, we would be more manueverable with better options for hiding, though we deal with the risk of being slower and easier to catch." Steve said, mostly to himself. "Either way, I do like the idea of punching Trask in the face on our way out."

"So do you want car or foot or do you want to steal some bikes from over there?" Lois questioned, nodding to the bike rental.

For a second, Steve got a sparkle in his eye that suggested he didn't mind the idea of swiping a pair of bikes and Lois wondered if he was one of those guys who just threw his fucks to the wind when the chips were down like this.

"No, I think we'll be quicker on foot." he said, which was somewhat disappointing.

Two cars doors slammed shut in succession and they both tensed. Steve hefted the Smith & Wesson up to his shoulder and held it ready.

"You take one of them. I'll get the other." Lois hissed to him.

"What?" The former sergeant frowned, looking her up and down from the concealer-caked bruise on her cheek to the tips of her snow boots and for half an instant, Lois saw him seriously doubting her ability to take a six-foot man in a fight.

She would be the first to admit that it was hardly a new reaction and no, she didn't look like she could take a six-foot man in a bout of fisticuffs. She acknowledged that quite cheerfully, because she liked seeing the looks of men's faces the exact moment they realized that they had underestimated her. She wasn't terribly strong, so speed and surprise were the best weapons in her arsenal.

However, a beat later, Steve nodded like he had just re-assessed and found her Mjolnir-worthy, and said: "Okay, which one do you want? Trask or the other one?"

"I'll take whichever one's uglier." Lois replied.

"I guess I'll take the driver, then." Steve shrugged, clicking the safety back on and stowing the gun into his pocket again. He gestured like he was holding a door open, inviting the reporter to go first.

Adjusting her satchel bag so it was snug against the small of her back, Lois darted around the corner of the office building like a dragonfly. Trask and his driver had only gotten just inside the columns, peering cautiously into the shadows around the plaza. He wasn't looking where he should have been. Between the shot-out light and Lois generally being small and swift, he didn't react in time to her charge.

"Aaagh!" Lois battle-cried, just as she leapt at the government agent.

"What the- _-_?" was all Trask had time to say.

Her right leg lashed out in a nicely-arced kick and caught Trask just below the ribs. Her snow boot was nice and clunky, and it connected with the man's side very solidly. He lurched to the side, partially losing his grip on the assualt rifle. Lois swept it out of his slackened hand.

"This is for my face!" she shouted, and butted the end of the rifle into his nose. There was a satisfactory cracking sensation and blood started to dribble out of his nostrils.

The sound that escaped Trask was somewhere between a whine and a whimper, and he fell backwards, clapping hands over his face as the nosebleed started in earnest. Lois stomped a heel into his stomach for good measure.

"And that's for all the shit you're trying to put Clark through!" she added.

She hefted the rifle up under her arm and looked up to see if Steve had finished yet. He had laid into the driver, a swarthy and swole fellow with quite a prominent mole on his cheek next to his nose. With several wiry black hairs growing out of it, Lois knew, because she remembered that man from her rebel teenager days.

Steve drove his fist into the man's face for the third and final time, putting him down on the snow-dusted pavement. He snatched the identical assault rifle out of the driver's hand.

"Run!" he ordered.

Lois sprinted out into the empty streets outside the plaza, with Steve right on her heels. Downtown got quiet after midnight (there were only a handful of bars and late-operating diners and most of them closed their doors at midnight; it was the outer boroughs that kept thumping right up until four in the morning) or else they would have been hearing sirens by now. On the upside, it meant that no one tried to stop and ask them what was going on. On the downside, it meant there were no crowds to get lost in. Not until they got up into Midtown.

"Where are we going?" Steve asked, after a few blocks when they had slowed to something better resembling a jog.

"I'm not sure anymore. My usual bolt-holes might be busted." Lois admitted, shrugging. "Trask's driver? I've seen him before. He's this low-level thug with Sofia Gigante. Mostly works with the street gangs and he's been around for a long time. I hope he didn't get a good look at my face or we're in real trouble."

She could practically hear Steve bursting to inquire further, to ask her how much she had hassled the street gangs in the name of getting a story. Clark might have asked, she realized. No, Clark definitely would have asked, with some burning curiosity to know more about her past (why he wanted to know, she had no idea; it wasn't very pleasant). But Steve had more control and simply proceeded to look a bit worried instead.

"That's a Tec-9. Do you know how to operate one of those?" he asked, gesturing to the rifle under her arm.

"The boys at Ramstein got real enthusiastic about teaching me to fire an AK-47." Lois replied. They had been quite gleeful about it, like there was an element of rebellion to teaching the stern general's daughter how to pull off a headshot at one hundred paces. "Is it fundamentally different?"

"No, operation-wise, they're about the same." Steve assured her. "So, Ramnstein Air Base? I thought General Lane was Army?"

"He is, but Ramstein went joint operations in 1980 and General Dad became Brigadier not long after they made the announcement." Lois explained. Even though the base had gone joint, everyone still called it 'Ramstein Air' due to sheer force of habit. "You never got an overseas placement, did you."

"Not really. Beale after I got out of basic for more training and then I spent five years operating in the Middle East in war zones until the troop recall; I don't think that counts. Sent me to Mcclellen after that until my service contract was up." Steve explained. "I'm glad to be out, honestly."

Lois nodded. "What are you gonna do with yourself now?"

"I'll get a new job and give college another shot next summer. Maybe I'll take pilot lessons too, if I can find the time."

"Yeah, I saw that application. I also heard Lieutenant Sawyer offered you a job with the SCU."

"She did. And I think I'd get it too if I went right up to her tomorrow, but I'll be official and hand in the application and my resume first." The former sergeant shrugged and his tone resumed a more business-like timbre. "So, where are we going now?"

"We could hide out in Suicide Slums or we swing around east to Hell's Gate- _-_ No, scratch that, Suicide Slums." Lois corrected. "I know a guy who winters there. He has a boat. We'll spend the night out on the water if we have to. It won't be a problem. He's done it for me before and he doesn't ask questions."

"Good. I think we should say something to the cops too. In case we conveniently go missing before anyone realizes that Trask was involved." Steve added warily. More than one person had 'gone missing' in his tenure as a field agent.

"We'll have to be careful with that. There's a few dirty cops in the ranks. Not very many, but we have no way of knowing who they are." Lois shook her head, only slightly against the idea. It was still a good one, but it required some double-checking. "Fortunately, I have a contact in the SCU- _-_ "

A distant squeal of tires, rubber against the road, sounded sharply several streets behind them. They shared a look that said _'shit'_ and darted down the next dark alley. They knew the attack would only net them a few precious minutes. They needed to get somewhere quiet and out of the way, where no one would think to look for them.

Getting out onto Lake Superior until they could think of something better was probably their best bet, reluctant though Lois was to drag Bibbo into this. He was good people and he wouldn't deserve to be gunned down, something Trask would surely do. The man didn't seem to believe in innocent bystanders. It seemed that if you were sharing the same square footage with the target, Trask considered you guilty by association.

Between Clark and Lois, that list could very well include their respective landlords, the people in their apartment buildings, and every single employee of the _Daily Planet_.

And she wasn't about to have that.

All the same, if Bibbo was willing to help, they'd be mad to turn away.

The problem was the distance. They were two and a half miles away from the Slums and there was no guarantee whatsoever that they could get there before Trask caught up with them.

"Do you think they're watching the train stations?" she asked out loud.

"Probably. It feels like Trask is treating this like an operation, so yeah, public transport would be under surveillance." Steve nodded. "We'll have to go on foot unless you have another friend we can trust implicitly."

Lois snorted. "Bitch, _please_. I don't have friends, I have _contacts_ and _stoolie canaries_. Bibbo owes me just as many favors as I owe him."

"What about that Clark Kent fellow? You and him seemed pretty much like friends when I saw you earlier this evening." the former sergeant pointed out. He had seen enough fire-forged friendships in the military to recognize one between civilians and it had amused him greatly to see that one, mostly because they seemed completely oblivious to it.

"We're work-partners." Lois corrected. "Anyways, he doesn't own a car and I haven't seen him since that explosion by the SCU. He's not answering my calls either. God, I hope he's still alive..."

It was a feeling both maddening and terrifiying and Lois hated it because it reminded her of the weeks leading up to her mother's death; by the time Ella had developed pneumonia in one lung after the other and her asthma exacerbating it fiercely, there hadn't been much for the doctors to do except increase the dosage of pain medication. She could have gone at any time and Lois starkly remembered the gnawing sensation of fear that her mother would die while she was trapped in a classroom. Schrödinger's Death: not knowing if someone was dead or alive until you saw them again.

 _He's definitely alive._ Lois thought fiercely, to make herself look on the bright side. _I mean, Clark's pretty tough. He survived Trask's bullshit once so I'd say he knows how to do it twice. He's fine. He just can't get to his phone right now-_ -

"Miss Lane!"

Steve's panicked shout brought her instantly out of her affirmations to find that she was in the middle of a crosswalk and there was _a car_ -

The brakes screeched and Steve grabbed her around the waist and out of the way. Lois felt herself go "hrk!" like it was some badly executed Heimlich. The car fishtailed slightly, lurching on its front tires as though it was threatening to flip, and then came to a grudging halt. In the front seat, Lois saw a familiar face with large green eyes and the enormous 'fro of dark hair barely tied back in what was passibly a ponytail, all belonging to possibly the best person they could have run into right now.

"You!" she bellowed, jerking free of Steve's protective grip and marching towards the car. "You! You're going to help us! Right now!"

Colletta Kanigher lowered the passenger-side window and leaned over. "Lois, two questions. Why do you have an assault rifle and who is the tall, blonde, and handsome stranger who... I might have seen before?" she asked, lowering her voice to a loud whisper on the last part.

"Both questions will be answered if you unlock the doors and drive us over to the Slums." Lois said, yanking pointedly on the door handle. "I'm not joking, Colletta. This is literally a matter of life and death. Specifically, our lives. And you still owe me some favors."

"I thought we got past the barter system years ago." Colletta commented, unlocking the doors for them.

Lois climbed into the front seat and Steve got into the back, and then did a double-take.

"Hang on, didn't I see you done at the SCU earlier today?" he asked.

"Now that you mention it, yep! Colletta Kanigher. My friends call me 'Etta'. Not Lois, though. She doesn't think we're friends despite the fact we've known each other for like six years." the young police officer said, getting the car moving again.

"We were college house-mates united against the fuckery of the deadly sins of sloth, gluttony, and greed." Lois said.

"In other words, we had the fat lazy room-mate who didn't do any of the chores, ate everything in the pantry even when it was labeled, and tried to squeeze her fifty-inch butt into dresses cut for a twenty-inch butt. She ripped three of my best skirts right down the seams and then had the nerve to complain that my clothes didn't her curdled thighs. We called her the Kracken." Colletta elaborated, nudging Lois. "C'mon, we're practically sisters-in-arms for all we went through with her."

Lois shook her head. "No, I just bought the bedroom door locks and stopped buying groceries. You're the one who rounded up the women's kickboxing team and made her life miserable." she explained. "We were _united_ , on the same side, but I wouldn't go so far as to call us friends."

Colletta frowned. "Does that mean we're still girlfriends then?"

"That was once."

"That was four times, Lois."

"Wait, did you two go on a date? Four times?" Steve asked, picking up on the fact that their shared history went beyond a slovenly house-mate.

"No, we had filthy sex four times." Colletta said cheerfully, making Lois turn pink and cover her face. "We actually did date for some of freshman and sophomore year. And then Lois concluded that she was definitely straighter than I was, it wasn't going to work, and we had to break up anyways because her dad yanked her out of school."

"Colletta... I haven't even told Clark any of this shit. Don't bring it up in front of someone I met five minutes ago." Lois grumbled warningly.

"You didn't tell him just so you could watch him twitch?" Colletta wondered.

"No. I thought it might injure his delicate small town farm boy sensibilities. Anyways, it's not like I'm going to end up dating **him** , so my past relationships aren't any of his business." Lois muttered.

She figured that Clark, coming from such a small town, hadn't really had the _exposure_ to the various sexual identities and probably didn't know most of them existed. He might have been somewhat familiar with the idea of the "college lesbian", but he had also gone to community college. It was hard to say. So it would probably be much less of a hassle if she didn't bring it up at all.

Then she rubbed her face to try and chase the blush away. "Fine. Steve, meet the hella bi SCU officer Colletta Kanigher, my only lesbian sex experience and the only person I would call my ex. Yes, we dated for about eight months. Yes, we slept together four times. Yes, I found out I was a lot more into men than I thought I was. Is that going to bother you?" she asked, looking sternly over the back of the seat to Steve.

Steve blinked. "No... I don't think so?" He sounded unsure, like he had never actually encountered someone who was openly bisexual and had never given such an encounter any thought.

"Good. Colletta, meet former Air Force sergeant and government agent Steve Trevor. A.K.A. Agent Stoolie Canary, the reason why psycho Agent Trask is in the middle of attempting to hunt us down and kill us, so we don't spread his secrets, and that's why you need to get us to the Slums." Lois added.

"That doesn't sound like a good idea, hiding there. The Slums isn't the safest area and you know it." Colletta said.

"We're not going to hide there. I just need to find Bibbo and have him take us out onto the lake for the night. We'll figure out the rest of it in the morning." It was all Lois could think of doing right now. Her plan didn't go beyond that.

"I dunno if that's really a good plan. Trask is a psychopath and if he catches you on the water, the only place you'll go is down." the SCU officer said.

"We just need to get out of sight for the next few hours." Steve said. "I don't know the city at all, so right now, I'm open to any suggestions, sensible or otherwise."

"Hmm... I can't take you back to my place. My roommate would flip her shit. She thinks I'm into threesomes." Colletta said. She glanced at Lois. "I guess your place isn't even on the list. What about your friend, Clark?"

"Work-partner and no, he's in the same jam." Lois grunted, watching the streets as they passed them. Trask didn't know they were vehicularly mobile, but she couldn't shake the feeling that he would come roaring up the street to T-bone them.

"What about your usual hide-aways?"

Steve raised an eyebrow. "You have usual hide-aways?"

"They're compromised, or at least I assume they are. The driver working with Trask is one of Sofia Gigante's. Even if he didn't get a good look at my face, I'm positive my name's already come up." the reporter said. "I couldn't even begin to guess how or why, but I'm starting to think Trask might have opened good relations with Gigante."

"Trask? Cooperating with a woman on _anything_? Without coercion? Hah!" Steve howled with laughter. That was the funniest damn thing he'd heard all night.

"No, I'm sure coercion was heavily involved." Lois commented. "But even that one guy suggests she's lending him some support."

Colletta made a thoughtful face and then spun the wheel sharply around the next right turn, knocking her passengers into the doors.

"Etta!" Lois squawked, pushing herself upright.

"You called me 'Etta'!" the SCU officer cooed happily.

"Why are we going north now?" Lois demanded.

"Because I'm not taking you to the Slums."

"Then where?"

"Racine. We'll trip through Lafayette first." Colletta said, pressing her foot down on the pedal. The road was empty and a through-way, so she didn't have to worry too much about stopping. "Look, I know a Homicide detective who's been agitating to bring Gigante down for the last year and a half. He's had to play it quiet because of the Falcone connection, but he figures if he can pin a solid on Sofia, Papa Falcone won't touch him."

"Risky move, from what I know of the Falcone crime family. I hear they control most of Gotham." Steve commented. "How do you know what he's been trying to do?"

"He comes by once a month to see if we've got anything helpful. SCU gets the weird stuff, but we also run double duty on drug-busts and missing people and the occasional terrorists threat. You'd be shocked how often those three tend to entertwine. We're kind of a hodge-podge of crap, but this guy's really good at sorting through all that and finding the relevant stuff. Maggie's been pushing hard to get him into the SCU, but Homicide doesn't want to let him go and I guess he hasn't got much incentive to transfer anywhere else."

Lois smirked. "So you figure that if he helps us and succeeds, you can help the lieutenant make a better case for getting him into the SCU."

"No, it's nothing like that." Colletta said, rolling her eyes. "I'm going to show him that working in the SCU is _way_ more exciting than boring old Homicide. Thereby making him think that the decision was really his own and not a carefully calculated spur of the moment plot executed by myself on Maggie's behalf."

"Devious little shit, Etta." Lois grinned. There was a reason they had briefly dated and still remained amiable to each other to this day.

"Is he really that good of a detective?" Steve wondered. It seemed to him that Lieutenant Sawyer was choosy about her recruits. When she'd turned right around to offer him a job immediately after Trask had fired him, the general gasp of surprise had said a fair bit.

"Yeah, he's bomb at sorting out puzzles. Makes the sort of intuitive leaps that you'd expect from a forty-year veteran who lived long enough to turn into a gumshoe." Colletta said. The guy had recently passed the five-year mark and already he had the track record of a seasoned veteran. "When you find a detective like that, you hold tight and don't let go. So we've gotta convince him to come over to our side. We get better health insurance and we have slammin' coffee anyways. Capain Jase says we shouldn't have to drink shit."

"Sign me up." Steve muttered, absently holding out a fist. Without looking, Colletta thumped her fist into his.

"Well, I hope Detective Awesome McBadass meets expectations." Lois said. Nine times out of ten, Colletta's rave reviews were on point. "What's his name?"

"Oh yeah!" Colletta snapped her fingers as the Eclipse Bridge came into view ahead. "His name is Jim Gordon."

* * *

Clark didn't regain consciousness slowly. He woke up like he was escaping a nightmare, adrenaline flooding in his veins and causing him to jolt. His brain screamed _danger danger warning!_ and his fight-or-flight response tried to kick in before he was actually aware enough to coordinate his limbs and he just ended up flopping a little like a gangly-finned fish.

"Whoa! Clark! Clark, it's okay!"

A hand touched his shoulder and he threw an arm over his aching chest protectively before he actually realized who the voice belonged to. Clark pried his eyes open, wincing at the bright lights around him. Everything was a fuzzy blur, but only for a second, and he found Dr. Sullivan leaning over him with an expression that was both concerned and relieved.

"Are you awake? How are you feeling?" the engineer asked.

Clark blinked, wondering for a moment what kind of questions those were, because he was clearly awake and aware, and the pain in his chest had dialed back from "indescribably and volcanically hellish" to "skin peeled away by gravel" and his chest had been plastered with a flesh-colored bandage. Frankly, he was alive and that was obvious, so those were both dumb questions.

Then he realized he was expected to answer at least one of them.

"Ow." he said.

Dr. Sullivan smiled. "Good enough."

"That hurt." Clark said, rubbing his hand against the bandage. He could still feel some damaged skin underneath it, but it wasn't the molten charred hamburger he had envisioned.

"It sounded like it hurt." the engineer agreed.

"No, I mean it _hurt_. I've never been hurt by anything else before. I flipped the tractor once when I was driving it. It fell on me and we had to replace it. We had to tell the insurance folks that we accidentally hit it with the harvester combine." Clark informed him, the memory of the twisted tractor rising briefly to the forefront of his mind. "Dr. Essex had me by the throat three weeks ago and he left bruises. And now this."

Dr. Sullivan nodded. "It would seem that we are vulnerable only to what came from Krypton." he said. "You, me, Nam-Ek - _-_ Dr. Essex, to you - _-_ all come from the same place. In that sense, we're all equal."

"But... Shouldn't the invulnerability mean we can't actually hurt each other?" Clark wondered, his brow furrowing. He couldn't claim to know a thing about how it all worked, but if he was invulnerable to all things under the sun, didn't that include others just like himself?

"I'm a mechanical engineer, Clark, not an organic scientist." Dr. Sullivan said, crossing his arms. "If you want the scientific answer, you'll have to talk to Nam-Ek. Dr. Essex. He's the one who came up with the theory. I'm just repeating it."

"If it's all the same, I think I won't." Clark muttered, rubbing his chest again. He probably wouldn't make it through a third encounter, now that it was clear the mad scientist seemed bound and determined to kill him.

He looked around. "Where are we?" he asked.

He had been laying on a slab that felt more like sandstone than anything, yet oddly soft and warm. Around him was crystalline walls the color of pink quartz striated with the familiar foggy ivory. Bright sun-like light beamed from the wall sconces, but had no discernible source. There were no windows anywhere in the room. Just the smooth crystal-like walls that stretched up over their heads to meet in cathedral-like arches. It was no human engineering he had ever seen and it gave him no clues where he was. Quite, it seemed rather alien, if he had to apply a word to it. For all Clark could tell, they were on another planet.

"Ah, I suppose it's one of the last things left of Krypton." Dr. Sullivan said, motioning for him to lay back a little. He started to peel back the bandages. "It's old, though. From the Age of Expansion, which would put it... ooh, roughly seventeen hundred to two thousand years old. We're still on Earth, if you were wondering."

"But _where_ on Earth?" Clark asked, and was faintly amused by the fact the question suddenly had much more weight than it normally did. It usually wasn't asked so seriously.

"Exact location? Inaccessible Island in McMurdo Sound."

"Antarctica?!"

"Yes, Antarctica." Dr. Sullivan assured him. He removed the bandage fully from Clark's chest, revealing the damage. It wasn't as bad as it had been a few hours ago. It was still reddened and blistered, but more like a bad sunburn than pan-seared steak.

"That looks much better!" the engineer said happily. "You'll be fine by morning, I think."

"It still hurts a little." Clark commented.

"This is an old Kryptonian research outpost." Dr. Sullivan said, picking up a small tub of some kind of cream - _-_ it was colored light blue. "I checked the archived logs while you were out. It was used by anthropologists studying extremely primitive civilizations- _-_ by Kryptonian standards, I mean. They must have thought Earth would be a suitable location for a colony; the records go on for a good seventy years. They used to call this place the 'Fortress of Solitude' because it was so isolated. That was back when we still had better senses of humor."

"When did they leave?" Clark wondered.

"Oh... I don't think they did, actually." Dr. Sullivan said. "If I've got the dates lined up correctly, then the last group would have been stationed here just before the start of the Contact Plague. It's exactly what it sounds like. Someone brought home a highly contagious plague that passed easily through physical contact. Our system was quarantined against all travel and anyone who was stuck outside it was shit out of luck. I don't think the last group of anthropologists ever left the planet."

Clark blinked. "Wait, you're saying they died here?"

"Not here, not in the Fortress. The last entry logs the shut-down of the Fortress's main systems. My best guess is that they spread out across the Earth and just did what they did best." Dr. Sullivan shrugged. He could only presume as much. Without another shipment supplies and food incoming, they would have only lasted so long. Their best chance to live long and full lives would have been to leave for the greener pastures (probably of Chile or Argentina).

He slapped the blue cream onto Clark's chest and started to rub it in, and the mild burning began to subside. Clark hardly noticed, too busy with absorbing the mind-numbing realization that Earth _had been visited by an extraterrestrial race before!_ People from his birth planet had come to Earth before! Probably multiple times! And maybe even before that!

But not just visited... No, they had gone out into the world to live their lives and who knew what they had influenced along the way. Wouldn't it figure if the aliens-built-the-pyramids conspiracy theory actually had some credible weight to it? All those years of people swearing up and down about UFOs and little green men and the numerous unsubstantiated abductions and just the very concept of life elsewhere in the universe... The people who looked up at the stars and asked _"What's out there? Is there anything out there?"_ And now there was something and it had come to Earth long ago and it had stayed.

But if the world found out about him, humanity would lose its collective shit.

There was that strange little ignorance humanity indulged in, where they wanted to believe they were right about life all the way out there - _-_ that they didn't want to be the only life in the universe - _-_ yet at the same time, they were scared of finding out.

And so was he.

It was a little silly to be scared of something like that, knowing that he himself was an alien. But it was a strange, almost atavistic sense that Clark couldn't shake. He barely thought of himself as an alien. It was familiar, much more comfortable to identify as human. He had been raised by humans, as a human, into the amalgamation that was American culture and it seemed that he had absorbed everything that defined the very nature of human beings. He used to look up at the night sky, wonder what was out there, and then wonder if he truly wanted to know. Even after finding out The Big Secret, his star-gazing thoughts hadn't changed much. _'What's out there'_ had become accompanied by _'Where did I come from out there?'_

And he still wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Dr. Sullivan's ministrations slowed. "Are you all right?"

"It's a lot to take in." Clark said, shrugging in a half-hearted way. "I don't remember if I've ever actually thought about it. About... not being human."

"When we talked this past afternoon, you told me that your adopted parents, the Kents- _-_ They didn't tell you that you weren't from Earth until you were thirteen." Dr. Sullivan started.

"That's when they told me I was adopted. They didn't show me the shuttle until I asked if they knew anything about my birth parents and that was when I was fifteen." Clark corrected.

"Do you know why they kept it from you?" The engineer sounded like he was gearing up for an argument, his voice taking on a defensive tone like he was ready to spout some vaguely xenophobic commentary.

"Because it's not something you blurt out over the dinner table. My _parents_ ," Clark deliberately deliberated emphasized that, glaring at the engineer to let him know that no argument would be made of this and if so, he would defend Johnathan and Martha to his dying breath. "The two people who raised me like I was their flesh and blood child meant the best and they weren't sure if telling me would help or hinder. They never gave me a reason to think I was unwanted or unloved, but they didn't know what learning that would do and they didn't want to take the risk that it would destroy me."

Though he had been grappling with the argument in the past, he understood it fully now in retrospect. It was a burden enough for a teenager to learn that they were adopted, but then to be handed the knowledge that they were from beyond the stars as well? Johnathan and Martha had played the adoption talk by ear, but there was no measuring stick for the second thing. There hadn't been a way to break it gently, no way of knowing how Clark would take the news. Revealing the knowledge would and had shattered nearly all of his conceived notions. Not a metahuman, but an alien - _-_ the answer to _'what's out there, are we alone in the universe'_ , and god knows why he had been sent to Earth.

In retrospect, Clark couldn't find it in himself to be mad, frustrated, or even slightly unhappy with his parents for being so hesitant to tell him.

But Dr. Sullivan didn't look like he was going to make an argument of it. He smiled and began applying the fresh bandage. "You're a fine young man, Clark, and I'm glad you were raised by good people. Lara and Jor-El do seem proud of how you turned out."

"Yeah..." Clark nodded in agreement until the statement actually sunk. "Wait, what? What do you mean 'do seem proud'?"

"Well, the external hard drives that I took from the shuttle contain a lot more than just four centuries of Kryptonian history." Dr. Sullivan admitted. He smoothed down the bandage and stepped back. "It's hard to tell, exactly, considering that they are computer programs and therefore, artificial constructs, so their opinions must be taken with a grain of salt-"

"Wait, what?" Clark repeated.

"Artificial intelligences." Dr. Sullivan said simply. He handed Clark a shirt. "Your parents live on in the programming of two A.I.s."

* * *

-0-

Steve Trevor? Jim Gordon? Colletta "Etta Candy" Kaniger? Oh yeah, I'm workin' an angle here.


	19. Dramatic Announcements

i make clark sterile and that passes without comment, but i make lois bisexual and i lose a subscriber. stay classy interwebs.

Anyways, this is probably the most "Man of Steel" inspired chapter in the bunch, in terms of headcanons for Krypton. I think I science'd everything right. I also played around with the Jewish naming schemes that Siegel and Schuster originally used to come up with "Kal-El". Given that Krypton is generally portrayed as having a dignified society of people, I figured there could be "formal" names and a shorter informal name.

* * *

Chapter Nineteen: Dramatic Announcements

Dr. Sullivan didn't treat the announcement like it was dramatic. Rather, he acted as though Clark's deceased parents had simply left him a journal or perhaps a video or a photo album. All the same, this was a dramatic announcement for someone who didn't have any connection of his birth parents.

As the engineer spoke, two holograms shimmered into being behind him, heavily pixelated at first but then the resolution cleared as they manifested fully. They were tall and dark-haired and blue-eyed, each wearing scarlet tabards over dark blue robes, belted in at the waist. The woman's hair was done up in an elaborate twisting style held in place with a series of hair-combs that appeared to form one continuous loop. The man wore a simple brass-colored circlet on his forehead. Most tellingly, though, pinned to their belts was a very identical shield-badge depicting the same stylized S sigil. If Clark hadn't seen the pictures earlier, he never would have guessed who these two holograms were modeled after.

He scrambled off the slab, holding the shirt to his chest. The features of each hologram seemed to stand out even more. The dark hair. The piercing blue eyes. The shape of the man's jawline that almost matched his own and the delicacy of the woman's fingers that that had always made his hands appear as though they belonged to someone else...

"You're my parents- _-_ my birth parents. You're actually..."

Clark had to grip the edge of the slab for balance when his knees threatened to go. A dizzy feeling swept across him. Finally, after nearly nine years of only being able to imagine, he could see where he had come from. Finally, he laid eyes on the mother and father who had given birth to him. Even if they weren't real. Even if they were just merely shadows of the real things. It didn't matter much, because they were in front of him, standing as tall and proud as he had always hoped they would be.

Both of the A.I.s were smiling brightly at him, as if they were genuinely pleased to see him. The expressions were fabricated; they were really just long strings of programming designed to look like real people, but- were those tears in the woman A.I.'s eyes? Was that a proud smile from the man?

Dr. Sullivan turned far enough to put the A.I. holograms in his field of vision and smiled back in Clark's direction. "It's been a long twenty years since we were all in the same place." he said softly.

The hard-light construct of Lara appeared to frown in a slightly strained manner.

"We are not truly here, Father." she said in a tone of a daughter whose father had just made a particularly bad dad-joke. "To assume otherwise would suggest a delusion- _-_ "

"You are imperfect facsimiles, yes," Dr. Sullivan acknowledged, nodding impatiently. "And yet, you're all that's left of both of them and you're all that can be here for your son. If it's all the same to you, I think I'll keep my happy delusion for a little while."

"I imagine that we are less than you were expecting..." the Jor-El started, sounding very uncertain as he turned to Clark.

"No!" Clark shook his head, breaking out of his shock. "Nothing like that! It's more than I ever thought..." He found himself smiling despite the hot prick of tears in the corner of his eyes. "I just have a lot of questions and- _-_ my grandfather gave me the impression he didn't know all the answers."

"It's true. That last year or so, I have no idea what happened." Dr. Sullivan agreed. He glanced at Clark. "I know this is more for you than me, but I have some questions of my own."

"I'm sure we'll both want to hear the answers." Clark said quickly, abruptly remembering just _how little_ Dr. Sullivan had been able to tell him. The man's profession was mechanical engineering and when you spent so much time with soldering irons and scrap metals with the job of creating functional robots, it was easy to forget all those little details about history and culture and politics. When it wasn't your specialty, it didn't matter as much to remember it.

The Jor-El smiled. "Then ask your questions. We were created to assist you to the fullest extent of our capabilities."

Dr. Sullivan gestured for his grandson to ask first.

Oh god, where to start? Clark steadied himself on the edge of the slab. Ever since finding out, all sorts of questions had been building up in his head. But the most pressing ones - _-_ the ones that he had wondered about the longest - _-_ rose up to the surface.

"Th-The planet. Krypton, right? What happened to it? Why did you send me to Earth?"

"Krypton was dying." the Jor-El replied.

As he spoke, the crystalline walls and floor took up images of a desert world that didn't look like it had started that way. Black plant-life was wilting under an orange sky, the sun burning an angry red instead of yellow. The image of the ground under Clark's feet was like a cracked clay-bed, long jerky furrows carved into a sand-blasted ground, and the sight of it made him jump a little before he realized the temperature of the floor hadn't changed. Desolate mountains reared in the distance and Clark got the sense of a hot, grit-filled wind beating the landscape like a whip. The environment looked harsh and unforgiving and dying in every way. Even the clouds threatened to fall out of the sky.

Dr. Sullivan made a quiet "Ah..." of remembrance, like he had managed to forget about this in the past twenty years, surrounded by the comparative lush-ness of Earth with its fertile soil and green grass.

"I- _-_ I was sent away so I could..." Clark trailed off, uncertain of how to finish that thought.

"So you could live." the Lara finished.

The images shifted, taking him away from the rocky, dying landscape and into a city constructed entirely from crystal. A myriad of different shapes and colors, though the growth appeared to have been more controlled, to ensure that each building did not overtake its neighbors. It would have been vibrant for the red sunlight glinting off the tall spires and the hundreds of robed Kryptonians strolling the streets with vehicles darting past and tubed trains shooting by overhead. It looked like a marketplace, with vegetables and clothes and livestock and jewelry and the merchants calling out prices and enticing a fat purse to come over and have a look at their product.

It should have been vibrant, but there was something distinctly flat about it. it was as if everyone there was just going through the motions, like they were waiting for something.

"Once, Krypton was a powerful society. We were not war-like, but we were arrogant. We thought too highly of ourselves. It began to show in bad ways, that inflated sense of entitlement. We began to believe that everything was due to us simply because we existed."

The Jor-El wore a disgusted look, obviously mirroring the disdain that the real Jor-El would have felt.

"Over time, our society became decadent and overreaching. And that was when it started to rot." he went on. "The Council of Elders, who ruled over Kryptonian society, soon proved that they cared more for the rattle of coinage than the affairs of the people, particularly those who lived by lesser means. And especially those who did not agree with them."

"They were corrupt?" Clark asked.

"In their own foolish ways, yes." the Jor-El nodded. "Their overconfidence, the public's unwavering trust in them, and not enough fact-checking is what led to our society's demise."

"The Council had ruled with very few problems for over a millennium. We abolished war, domination, capital punishment. We forcibly did away with the destructive aspects of society and believed ourselves superior for having done so." the Lara said. "When you create and control a world where there are so few flaws, the people grow complacent and quite unwilling to believe that anything might disrupt it. Our people trusted the Council's judgment too much to listen otherwise."

"They were fools." Dr. Sullivan muttered, his arms crossed, his voice tinged with bitterness. It sounded like this was a topic he had expounded time and again until there was nothing more to be said.

"We suffered an energy crisis. In an effort to correct it, we began mining material from the planet's core. This caused the core to stop rotating." the Jor-El said. "Additionally, Krypton's age was beginning to catch up with it. It was already an old planet and destabilization happens. Our actions with the core only hastened the process.

"A third factor was our sun, a K-type, class three red giant. Due to a stronger gravitational pull, it is very common for orbiting planets to become tidally locked. We were losing our night sky while the other side of the planet was losing daylight hours. Our seasons didn't change at the same pace they used to. Plants and animals begun to die due to poisonous gases escaping the mantle. It was clear that due to our own destructive practices, and the simple march of time, that Krypton as we knew it would become a memory. And a tomb if we did not escape it."

"But if everyone listened to the Council and they weren't convinced..." Clark started, but he could take a stab at what had happened next. No one had escaped.

"It was Jor-El who first put all the signs together. He went to the Council about the very instant he had confirmed his findings. He asked for a planet-wide evacuation, while they still had the time." the Lara said. "As you may suspect, the Council did not believe him."

"Why not?" Clark asked.

"Because they considered Jor-El a foolish man with silly notions, crippled by grief and driven mad by loss!" Dr. Sullivan spat suddenly, his fists clenching and his jaw tightening.

"Father." the Lara whispered in a vaguely admonishing tone.

"But they did." the Jor-El agreed. "Strong displays of emotion are not something we Kryptonians were inclined to indulge in. Passionate emotions were frowned upon. Repeated displays were often considered the symptoms of an unbalanced mind. It had been concluded long before even Sul-Van's time that violence was perpetuated by allowing one's emotions to rule their heads. Thus Jor-El's prominent displays of grief and anger served to discredit him in the eyes of the Council.

"When he approached them, they had two replies. First they said that they could not coordinate the logistics for a planet-wide evacuation. Then they claimed that other scientists had crunched the numbers as well, but came up with negative results. They did not believe that Krypton would die under their feet."

"Did anyone?" Clark wondered. _Did anyone survive, other than me? Other than my grandfather? Other than Dr. Essex? A planet full of people! Surely there was more than just the three of us!_

"Some did." the Jor-El nodded. "But the rest blindly, foolishly, arrogantly chose to follow the Council's statement. They carried on as though they couldn't see what was happening."

"And that is why you were jettisoned to Earth." the Lara said.

"But why _just_ me? Why did my parents stay behind if they knew Krypton was a goner?" Clark wondered.

"They wanted to." the Lara assured him, smiling sadly. "But they were out of time to grow a large enough capsule that would safely accommodate the three of them, and calibrate it properly. They had to use the data transmitted from the prototype which, as you may have guessed, was lost over an event horizon. Father has told us that it arrived here on Earth some years ago, so you are aware of how much weight it was calibrated for. They couldn't save their own lives, but they could save a life that was most precious and dear to them, more than all the stars in the sky."

The tears that had been threatening Clark's composure for the last few minutes finally dripped down his cheeks and he wiped at them hastily, feeling a bit embarrassed to be crying at all.

Even though it was justified.

His birth-parents had saved him from a dying world in the only way they knew. They had assured him a full life by sending him to Earth. They had literally put their hope for the future in a little pod and then blasted it past orbit into the depths of space, praying that everything would turn out for the best.

Clark wished that he could tell them. Actually tell them that he was okay. That he had grown up into a pretty decent person who tried his best to be a good person. That they had not prayed in vain.

"Wh-What about other? Other survivors?" Clark asked, shifting tracks. He had to know. "Is there any other Kryptonians out there, besides myself and..." He trailed off, glancing over at Dr. Sullivan.

The two A.I.s shared a long, considering look with each other. Clark had a sudden sense of what it might have been like if he had grown up with his birth-parents. He was sure they would have given each other the same look if he had asked an awkward question.

"It is a longshot." the Jor-El said. "Any launches that occurred would have been done in secret, as there was no evacuation order. Thus it would have been seen as treasonous. As such, there would be no record."

"Zor-El and Allura?" Dr. Sullivan asked hopefully. "They were the first to take Jor-El at face value."

"And they are...?" Clark prompted.

"Your aunt and uncle." the Lara replied. "Jor-El and Zor-El were brothers."

The image on the walls shifted away from the bleak city-scape to instead display a video clip of a strong-shouldered man with black hair and a thick, trimmed beard who looked quite a lot like Clark himself, standing beside an eerily beautiful woman with shining blonde hair. The woman was smiling that strained smile a person got when they were really trying very hard not to laugh; the man laughing uproariously. There was no sound, but Clark didn't need sound to see that the man had just witnessed something he thought was hilarious and was not arsed about showing it.

Then into the frame skipped a small munchkin of a girl, not much more than seven or eight years old, with a shoulder-length hair, the same shining blonde as her mother's. There was no doubting the parentage, though she was splattered with what looked like gray mud and looking rather unhappy about it.

Clark's jaw dropped into a slowly-forming grin. He had an aunt and uncle! And a cousin too! Look at that!

"Zor-El and Lara collaborated on the blueprints of the shuttle that brought you to Earth." the Jor-El said. "They lost contact in the weeks leading up to Krypton's end, but it seems likely the three of them might have made it off."

Dr. Sullivan breathed a sigh of relief, slumping. "Good. My beacon is still in orbit. If they're locked on to that, if it's still transmitting..."

"It is still transmitting." the Lara assured him. "Nonetheless, it is a longshot." she added, as though she was making sure they both understood that.

"What's her name?" Clark asked, pointing to his blonde cousin.

"Kara." the Jor-El replied.

"Kara." Clark repeated, savoring the name. He had a cousin. He had an aunt and an uncle. And maybe they had survived. The odds were something like a trillion to one, but there was a sliver of a chance of a hope.

"What's my name?" he asked, wondering why it had taken him so long just to ask it.

The Jor-El and the Lara actually turned to Dr. Sullivan and _glared_ , frowning in disappointment that the older man actually hadn't told him. The engineer shrugged helplessly, silently admitting that he really didn't have an excuse other than that Clark just hadn't asked him.

"You are Maz'al Kal-El." the Jor-El replied. "The second-born son of the House of El and the third confirmed survivor of the destruction of Krypton."

"Wait, second-born?" Clark felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. Second-born, of course, meant that he had had an older sibling. An older brother, at least, if he was the second-born son. How many siblings had preceded him?

How much family had he really lost?

The video segment on the wall continued to play and the camera pulled out to reveal that Zor-El and Allura were standing on a balcony. A set table was behind them, but the dishware was being cleared away by a robotic busboy and Clark got the feeling that they had been celebrating something. Kara was visibly shouting in outrage, shaking tiny fists like she was commanding her father to do something, when another glob of mud slapped into her shining hair and slid down onto her shoulders in a gloopy sort of way. She whirled around, her cheeks reddening, and charged out of the frame with what Clark imagined was a battle-cry.

The camera caught up just a second later and Kara's equally mud-splattered opponent was revealed. A young boy about the same age as she, with the same black hair and blue eyes as Clark, looking nearly identical as he had been at that age. Kara met the boy head-on, but he wasn't prepared to absorb the momentum of her charge, so they both went tumbling down a shallow slope towards another mud puddle, looking like they were having loads of fun in the process.

"Or'shel Hayl-El." the Lara said. She looked sad. "He was lost two years prior to Krypton's end."

"Dead?" Clark asked, barely daring to voice it.

"Death would be kinder than what happened to him." Dr. Sullivan said quietly, looking as sad as the image of his daughter.

"No, not dead as such, though it indeed would have been a kinder fate." The Jor-El shook his head. "Allow me to explain. Two years before Krypton's destruction, a militia general named Dru-Zod attempted to wrest control of Krypton away from the Council. After failing to secure a seat on the Council through legal means, he staged a coup d'etat. He was one of the few who saw the societal degradation that our people suffered from and believed that he alone would change it. He sought to end Krypton's self-enforced isolation and stagnant society. Bring around a new era of expansion and innovation, and send us back among the stars. He had grand dreams, but he executed them in ways that did more harm than good."

The wall image had changed again, showing a battle-hardened man clad in heavy armor. A scar ran down the side of his otherwise handsome face. He had an aquiline nose and short-cut dark hair. He looked like he might have once been a Roman from the days of Julius Caesar.

"You talk like you knew him." Clark observed. Even for an A.I., the Jor-El spoke with a certainty that made Clark wonder just _how much_ of his parents was embedded in their programming.

"Jor-El and Zod were friends once. But Zod's ambition to help Krypton under the guise of ruling it outweighed and eventually overcame any sort of loyalty he felt for Jor-El." the A.I. construct explained. "Zod often spoke at length to Jor-El about his revolution and sought to have Jor-El's backing. The House of El was a powerful noble family in Krypton's final years. The combined push of their influence most certainly would have tipped the scales in Zod's favor."

"But he refused, didn't he. Jor-El refused to help." Clark concluded. Though he knew little of his birth-father, he just didn't see the man joining sides with a would-be conqueror.

"Yes." the Lara nodded. "Jor-El did not agree with Zod's military tactics and refused to take sides, even if it meant sacrificing his friendship. Zod perceived this as a betrayal. In a misguided effort to secure Jor-El's assistance, Zod condemned Hayl to the Phantom Zone."

"What's the Phantom Zone?" Clark wondered. Whatever it was, it didn't sound pleasant.

"The Phantom Zone is an inter-dimensional plane of existence that was discovered by a scientist named Raz-Em, who unfortunately trapped himself inside upon discovery." the Jor-El explained. "His assistants were able to retrieve him using his notes, but it took the better of a year for them to decipher the mathematics required. Krypton might have done away with 'undesirable aspects', but there was still trouble with law-breakers. Minor offenders were put to hard labor, house arrest, and community service to pay their debt to society. Others, such as murderers, were condemned to the Phantom Zone. And it truly was a condemnation."

"Time does not pass in the Phantom Zone. If it passes at all, then it does so very slowly." the Lara went on. "For their treasonous crimes, Zod and his closest allies were imprisoned there. They are likely still alive- _-_ "

"Wait, wait- You're saying..." Clark sucked in a breath between his teeth and tried to marshal his thoughts into order. "You're saying that maybe- _-_ _just maybe_ Hayl is still alive? If he's in the Phantom Zone and- _-_ and not aging... Is he still alive?"

The A.I.s shared another long, considering look again, including Dr. Sullivan in it as well, as if they were silently debating just how much to tell Clark.

"It is not beyond the realm of possibility." the Lara said. "But the Phantom Zone is a dangerous place. There are nine centuries worth of Krypton's greatest enemies imprisoned there, from both the planet and far abroad. And Zod, as well. A young Kryptonian of Hayl-El's age may not have survived very long."

Clark winced. Zod just _looked_ like a highly unpleasant person. A man who might hold a grudge for years on end, just because he could. And if he blamed Jor-El for his failure in the misinformed revolution, then he might take his anger out on the nearest person; to hurt Jor-El in any way he could even without being able to lay a hand on the man himself. Clark's own brother- _brother!_ \- might have taken the brunt of Zod's anger against their father.

"I-Is there anything... Anything I can do?" Clark wondered. There was a sharp ache in his chest; he had a brother who may or may not have been alive. It made him shiver to think on it. As the only child his parents would ever have, Clark had thought of siblings in an abstract kind of way, always watching Pete raise hell against his younger siblings and wonder vaguely what it was like to have a brother or a sister. How massive the fights would have been, if they both had the same powers. Heat vision burns, super-strength punches, ground-shaking wrestling, whispering insults at each other below the threshold of human hearing.

And up until he was thirteen, he had believed himself to be of his parents' flesh and blood.

"Yes, you can get the Phantom Zone projector away from Nam-Ek. Dr. Essex." Dr. Sullivan said. "Get it away from him without him making you activate it and get it somewhere safe."

"What?"

"You were sent to Earth with a projector, a doorway to the Phantom Zone." the Jor-El said.

"And it was stupid to put it so close to the Phantom Drive." Dr. Sullivan added.

"Yes, yes, but we didn't have time to work out the logistics." The A.I. construct actually rolled its eyes. "All Zone prisoners are fitted with a beacon tag prior to being sent through the doorway. The tag is a must for entry or else the doorway does not recognize them as prisoners. The frequency of the beacon that Hay likely still has in his possession was unknown to Jor-El or his wife. Zod was the only one who knew the frequency and he would not give it up. The projector is attuning itself to the frequency even as we speak, attempting to locate the beacon tag. Jor-El believed until the moment of his death that Hayl could be retrieved, but he estimated that it would be thirty years, give or take, before the projector creates the correct retrieval frequency."

"But- _-_ he could still be alive." Clark said, searching for confirmation on that. "My brother could still be alive."

"Do not give up hope." The Lara tapped the sigil-badge on her belt. "The House of El chose this symbol as their house crest for a reason. It is the Kryptonian hieroglyph for 'hope'. The House of El has always believed that all things are possible, with a little bit of faith and a lot of effort."

It sounded like the exact same thing his adoptive parents had extolled. Both Johnathan and Martha believed in doing the heavy lifting yourself. They didn't find much reason to respect someone who wanted to accomplish something, but only wanted the magic pill solution. They believed that if you weren't willing to put in the hard work and effort to get there, then you didn't deserve the benefits.

They also knew that, even when you put in your very best, sometimes all you could do was hold your breath and pray that it all paid off.

"However, Nam-Ek's currently got the thing. He just can't use it. The projector is locked to your biometrics, Clark." Dr. Sullivan said. He looked grim. "He's going to come after you again and when he catches you - _-_ it's not a matter of 'if', he will - _-_ he's going to make you open the door."

"Why does he want to open the door?" Clark asked.

"To retrieve General Zod and the rest of his followers." the engineer answered. "Nam-Ek was party to the cause and loyal to Zod from the start. He just wasn't on-world when Krypton went. A conference on Daxam, I think?"

"Yes, the ethics of gene-splicing crossbreeds." the Jor-El nodded. He turned to Clark. "You will need to stop Nam-Ek. Let him open the doorway."

Clark blinked, his jaw dropping. "What?"

"I thought the point was not to let him- _-_!" Dr. Sullivan sputtered, throwing his hands up. "I knew you were a little mad, Jor-El, but opening the doorway-"

"And then throw him in." the Jor-El finished, silencing the older Kryptonian with a severe look. "The fabrication machines here in the Fortress are creating a beacon tag. Attach it to his clothes and push him through the doorway."

"But that'd be- _-_ cruel." Clark protested. Everything they had just told him about all the worst criminals and the lack of passing time and the comments that death would be a kinder fate...

"Do you think you could kill him?" the Jor-El wondered. "If you do not want to put him in the Phantom Zone, then the only other option that would ensure that he does not harm the people of Earth would be to kill him."

"I don't like either option." Clark stated. His shoulders sunk. "But I know I couldn't kill him."

He had never taken a life before and he knew that he never would. At least, he had never been in circumstances that might demand that he take a life and frankly, he hoped that he never would find himself in them.

The Jor-El nodded. "The beacon tag will be completed and programmed in approximately three hours."

"But what if he lasers me in the chest again?"

"The fabrication machines are also creating this." The Lara made a gesture with a hand like she was pulling something up and a new hard-light construct appeared beside her. "Kar-treated rethm armor. There is enough in the Fortress's stores to create at least two more suits. It should withstand the temperature and intensity of the heat-beams, though we will not have a chance to field-test it. It will likewise be ready in three hours. It's not as complicated as the tag."

"It's colorful." Clark said, not sure if that was exactly complimentary. Because it was very colorful and it didn't look particularly practical for armor. Form-fitting, really. Armor really wasn't supposed to be that form-fitting.

"The House colors. It's important." the Jor-El said, a bit proudly.

"Is the cape important too?"

"Yes." the Jor-El said, just as the Lara said "No." and he looked at her like she had just insulted him.

"Ugh." Dr. Sullivan turned away to face-palm in private. "I'm starting to think they ran an imprint and spliced it into sequences. Lara never would have let him program in his fashion sense."

Clark smothered a giggle. "He likes capes?"

"Your father was a dandy. When he wasn't mucking around in his lab, he was quite the fashionista. Always on top of the latest trends, swanning around in his everyday best. It was embarrassing." The engineer shook his head like he thought this was a failing. "The last I saw, he was trying to bring capes back into style."

"So I should just wear the cape to make him happy?" Clark asked, almost too amused to reject the idea.

"You don't want to deal with a pouty A.I." Dr. Sullivan said darkly, seeming to recall personal experience.

The Jor-El suddenly clapped his hands briskly (while the Lara shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose in dismay). "Do you have any other questions?" he inquired.

"Yeah." Clark nodded, wondering why they were even asking. Of course he had questions. He still had a lot of questions, about himself, about his family, about Krypton, and there were three hours to kill. He might as well make the most of it. "I just hope you know the answers."

* * *

North of the city was the district of Bakerline. It contained the boroughs of Vernon, Racine, and the much-reviled Metrodale. Anyone with an eye for symbolism doubtlessly would have noted the sheer contrast between the two former and the latter. Metrodale lurked like a puddle of dirty, oily rainwater on a pristine paved parking lot; its tract housing and collapsing sidewalks a sharp contrast to the green lawns and middle to upper class homes of Vernon and Racine.

It didn't take an eye for symbolism to see that Metrodale was a "black" neighborhood. That was, it was the unfortunate home for many black people driven out of better areas by institutionalized racism and currently lacked the means to move back to those better areas. So in that way, it also contrasted sharply with the other two boroughs.

Racine had once been the haven of artists and musicians and the like, but the allure of low rent living had attracted residents from a higher tax bracket and thusly driving the cost of living higher than the artist community could afford. The artists had migrated south to Pelham and Little Bohemia, settling in around the college in Mount Royal. Racine became the home of the wealthy and influential, of the business class and the politicians of Metropolis. Lex Luthor kept a Scottish Baronial mansion, transplanted brick by brick from the Scottish moors, though it was said that he preferred the luxury penthouse in Midtown, as to not be far from his work and his upper-level security system that repelled even the most intrepid of intruders. The Scottish manor functioned as little more than a status symbol.

As a result of so many wealthy individuals buying out the lots and building god knew what on them, the houses were a bizarre mixture of colonial and modern and various forms of renaissance and revival architecture. That being said, the driveway that Colletta brought them to led up to a sleek modern house that must have been built just around the time that ultra-modern had started to appear. The walls were largely insulated glass, reinforced at the corners with white-washed concrete columns and there was a significant proliferation of stainless steel, from the few interior walls to the appliances.

"Your detective lives _here_? There is no way he affords this on a cop's salary. You guys only make about thirty dollars an hour." Lois complained.

"That's still a lot of money." Colletta pointed out. "I mean, it might get you into Vernon if you live in a crap place for a year or two, so it's not that weird."

"Yeah, but I only make twelve bucks an hour and I live in Pelham." Lois said softly, leaning forward to get a better look. "A good area of Pelham, but still Pelham. No way this guy lives alone."

"Nope, he moved in with his fiancée. She owns an art gallery or she's a model... Or both. Something expensive, for sure." Colletta looked at the house with vague envy. She was a West River brat, born and raised, and she had moved right back in after the first round of renovation three years earlier. It was a better area than where she had grown up, but it was hard to ignore the state of the rest of the island.

"Are you sure he can help?" Steve wondered skeptically. There was something off-putting about learning that a cop lived in a shiny glass house on the rich side of town. Like it made them seem less trustworthy.

"Oh, he can. I think it's just a matter of if he's going to." Colletta admitted. She gave the front door a thoughtful look, like she was doubting for a moment that the detective would indeed help, but then she shrugged and started to get out of the car.

Lois shared a quick questioning look with Steve and then decided to herself that there was nothing else for it. If Colletta thought the detective could help, then Lois just might be able to convince him to.

She was good at convincing people without openly threatening them.

But if he really wanted to bring Sofia Gigante in...

Steve was still having a few misgivings about this, but he couldn't see any other course of action. If they were going to throw Trask and Gigante off their scent, they needed all the help they could get.

They joined Colletta at the door when she was ringing the doorbell, doing so incessantly until a light snapped on over the stairs inside and then the porch light followed suit, bathing them in a white mercury glow. There was a series of frustrated-sounding stomps across the foyer until the door was yanked open by someone who looked deeply unhappy about being woken up.

"Officer Kanigher, do you have _any_ idea what time it is?" Detective Jim Gordon demanded from the depths of his dressing gown. He looked to be only thirty years old with brown hair cut short - _-_ like a military haircut that had grown out - _-_ and dark blue eyes. Currently, there was a five o'clock shadow on his chin.

"Time and crime wait for no one, detective." Colletta said shamelessly. "Are you busy?"

"I was asleep." Detective Gordon growled, almost literally. He stepped gingerly over the threshold to shut the door, his bare toes curling on the cold concrete under them. "What's going on that so important you try breaking down my door at midnight?"

"First of all, this is Lois Lane." Colletta said, gesturing to the reporter. "She's our favorite reporter around the SCU because she doesn't mush facts. Seriously, if you don't want to be mis-quoted for the drama, go to Lois because she's s got more moral fiber in her work ethic than most people have in their diet.

"And this is Steve Trevor. I met him five or ten minutes ago." She gestured to the former agent. "I'm formally taking these two into police protection because they're being hunted down by this government fuck-wad agent named Jason Trask and he might be working in conjunction with Sofia Gigante and I want your help in keeping them safe."

If Detective Gordon hadn't been entirely awake before, he was now. Lois saw the man shift from being disgruntled to vastly interested. His grumpy face persisted and he didn't seem to like that they had his attention now. His eyes flicked between Steve, Colletta, and Lois's faces for a moment, doubling back over them once before returning to Colletta.

"Officer Kanigher, is this another effort to lure me over to the SCU on Lieutenant Sawyer's behalf?" he asked.

"Hahahah, why would you ask that?" the young police officer asked, like it was ridiculous to even consider that. "No, no, nothing like that. I'm totally acting of my own initiative this time and it's not to seduce you into the SCU- _-_ "

Lois stepped in front of Colletta to shut her up before she dug a nice hole for herself.

"Detective Gordon, Lois Lane." the reporter said. Introducing herself was automatic, as was the handshake. "Lieutenant Sawyer might be fishing to get you into the SCU, but this has nothing to do with that. What Colletta is trying to say is I can help you take Gigante down. And I mean _down_. So far down not even Papa Falcone could get her back on her feet. Not for a few years, at least."

Detective Gordon canted an eyebrow. "What do you think I've been trying to do for over a year and a half, Miss Lane?"

"Well, it's different this time." Lois said confidently. "You've got me."

"How does that make it different?"

"I used to work for her."

Because that was exactly how far afield Lois's rebellious teenage years had taken her. Catalyzed by her mother's death and exacerbated by her father's absent parenting, she had cut herself loose and disappeared into the streets of Metropolis. Within weeks, she had been picked up by one of Gigante's gangs and had spent the next two years doing things she had never imagined herself doing, on the mafia queen's orders. Lois had never been the straight-laced child, but there were lines she hadn't crossed until then. But once it had become clear how deep down the rabbit hole she had been expected to go, she had let herself get caught by the police in order to get out.

Lois had been trying to make up for those two years ever since.

Detective Gordon blinked, his mouth opening up a little in surprise. Lois knew what that was about. Few people who left Gigante's employment did so in one piece and even when you still had all of your fingers, there was usually a disfiguring scar or a permanent limp. She had gotten ridiculously lucky.

"Not directly, I admit. But the gang I was a part of worked pretty closely with her most times. We were her favorites." Lois added, to assure him that all of her information would be valuable.

The detective inhaled sharply and appeared to buoy up instead of looking overwhelmed by the sudden chance of jumping on leads he had never seen. It was rare for anyone to come forward with information on a mafia queen as notorious as Sofia Gigante. She was a bull, but her father was the horns. No wanted to mess with that.

Except for Lois Lane.

"The relevant files are downtown; Elle doesn't like me bringing work home." Gordon said, reaching for the doorknob. "Let me get dressed first."

* * *

-0-

The idea of Superman having a brother comes from the Silver Age character Mon-El, who crash-landed to Earth and displayed an identical power-set. It turned out that Mon-El was actually from the planet Daxam and not related to Superman at all and also spent a very lengthy period of time in the Phantom Zone so he wouldn't die of lead poisoning, which is also where I got the idea that time passes very slowly there or not at all (this pre-dates CBS Supergirl). All the same, I figured why not run with the idea and I fiddled with it until I got Hayl-El out of it.


	20. Chapter 20

Hang on to your butts, folks. Clark's getting ready to suit up for the first time. This chapter and the next are pretty much all Lois and company.

In other news, Story 3 is coming along at lot faster than I expected (i'm writing chapter 21), so I just might be able to make that weekly update switch in September. And that works out nicely, because the last August update will be chapter 23 which is the halfway point for this story.

Side-note: I know a lot of people usually don't check author profiles, so probably very few of you saw the sizeable info-dump I put in my profile. If you're curious about the planned direction of this budding fanfic universe, go take a gander.

* * *

Chapter Twenty:

Detective Gordon turned on the lights in the empty conference room and directed Lois inside. She walked in with a faint shiver of fear, because she was actually going through with this. She was about to tell someone stuff she hadn't talked about for five or so years.

"I've got to warn you." she started, as she lowered herself into a chair. "A lot of the stuff I'm going to tell you isn't pleasant. Kind of the opposite, really."

"I'm a detective, Miss Lane. I've seen things that I don't doubt are as bad as what you've experienced." Gordon assured her, while he set down the stack of file folders and then slid towards her the paperwork necessary to make this interview formal and official.

For a second, Lois felt like patronizing him; felt like saying things that would feed his ego, but being incredibly sarcastic about it and treating him like a child, because a part of her was going: _How dare he assume to know what I've been through_. Like he was turning it all around and making it about himself.

Another part of her acknowledged that he probably did have a very good idea. The detective wasn't young. He had five or six years on her and he had been on the police payroll for as long. He wasn't turning it around to make it about himself. He was just trying to assure her that he had been around the block a few times already.

That didn't mean they had been around the same blocks, however.

"Still, if you want to take a break here and there, I won't hold it against you." Lois shrugged, jotting her name down on the dotted lines where applicable. Yes, she was on board with this. Yes, this amounted to a signed confession. Yes, she was willing to trade full cooperation for a distinct absence of jail-time.

Detective Gordon frowned thoughtfully. "Isn't that what I should be saying to you?" he wondered, setting out a notepad and the recorder for the interview.

"I've kept my mouth shut on these things for six years, or something like that. Not even my diary knows." Lois told him, sliding the paperwork back towards him. "If being the stoolie canary means bringing down Sofia even just for a couple of years - _-_ because let's be honest, Papa Falcone's going to find some way to get her out of jail eventually - _-_ but if we can swing even five years in a super-max, I'll call it a job well done."

Detective Gordon nodded solemnly. "Glad to see your conviction, Miss Lane."

"And another thing." Lois put in. "If I'm going to spend the next hour or whatever spilling all of my deepest darkest secrets to you, I'm going to insist that you to call me 'Lois'."

"Then I guess I'm going to have to reciprocate and ask that you call me 'Jim'." the detective said, smiling. He slid a few of the file folders across the table and clicked on the recorder. "I've got some names I'd like to run by you to start. These are the files on four people who went missing, last seen in the company of known or suspected associates of Mrs. Gigante. I'm hoping now you'll recognize at least one of them."

Lois flipped open each folder and gave a quick look over each of the missing people. It didn't surprise her to find that she recognized all four of them; two of them only by name, but they were distinctive names that you didn't really hear in this part of America.

"Shawndra Barrera, civil rights activist and once-prominent member of the NAACP. I remember the media circus when she went missing." Lois said quietly. It hadn't been the first incident of NAACP members going missing, but due to the nature of Ms. Barrera's disappearance, it had certainly been the most sensational. "She's dead. Her body was dumped in the Carter River upstream."

"Do you have a more exact location?" Gordon asked, scribbling the information down.

"No, but the dumpers didn't go more than ten minutes out." Lois answered. Admittedly, that was long enough to get to the west side of the peninsula, but Sofia had had a thing back then about not dumping bodies directly into the lake.

Gordon sighed. "I still hoping we could find her alive, but I don't think her family will argue with a proper funeral." he commented. "The next one?"

"Vladimir Loginov, Ol' Vladdie. He might be dead." Lois tried to remember. "He was one of the bankers getting money laundered through the system. Not a confident sort of guy. He ended in the Slam a few times until he remembered which way the wind was blowing."

"The Slam?"

"Sofia's personal prison."

"She has a prison?" Gordon asked incredulously, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.

Lois shrugged. "She's got to put them somewhere." She pushed two of the folders back to him. "Souza and Einstein- _-_ Bjorgulfer Eysteinsson, I mean. My ear's not as close to the ground as it used to be, but there's a fifty-fifty chance they're still alive. If they're anywhere, she's keeping them in the Slam. You probably know Souza."

"Lucas Souza. He's a sergeant with Narcotics. Went missing last summer." Gordon nodded. He didn't cross paths with Narcotics very much, but when he did, it seemed like he always ran into Souza. A decent fellow, all things considered.

"Chances are real good Souza helped Sofia in setting up the meth operation so it went completely below police radar. But you only end up in the Slam if Sofia has any reason to doubt your loyalty, so he must have had second thoughts." Lois explained. "Get him out and he'll probably sing like a morning lark."

"Where is the Slam?"

"It's in the West River. I don't know the address, but I can recognize the building when I see it."

"Miss Lane- _-_ Lois. Why didn't you come forward with this information years ago?" Gordon wondered. He couldn't help but think how useful some of this would have been to know ages earlier.

Lois cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. " _Really_? You're wondering like you don't know the answer? Nobody thinks about snitching on Sofia and lives to follow through. I'm still alive _because_ I didn't, so you had better catch her this time." she said emphatically.

"I understand." Gordon nodded. Snitching was dangerous business; they would definitely have to assign a protection detail to Miss Lane. "Tell me about the gang you were a part of."

"We were all young, dumb punks." Lois said dryly.

"I figured that much. How did you get in?" Gordon asked.

"I beat up one of their members." the reporter admitted, grinning at the memory. "I'd run away from home a few days earlier; my dad was being impossible. You know how it is. Anyways, I was bunked up at a homeless shelter for the night when this asshole tried to drag me out of bed, so I kicked his butt. He was part of the gang. That impressed his buddy enough that he wanted me to join the initiates."

"You had to do an initiation?"

"Yeah, I had to steal a car. Like a luxury car. All the initiates had to do it without getting caught by the owners or the police."

"What do they do with the cars?"

"Some are gifted away, some go into a chop shop, and the rest get sold on the black market." Lois answered.

"Hmm, that sounds like the Suicide Kings." Gordon realized. One of the gangs operating out of the Slums and still fairly large and they dealt largely in cars and car parts. "They're a rough bunch, from what I've seen."

Lois snorted. "Of course they are. It was all about currying favor with Sofia and her lieutenants. The more brutal you acted, the better the chance that you caught her eye. You catch her eye, you move up in the world." she said. "I was in there for two years. I spent most of that time working the drug circuit. I was half-dealer, half-pusher."

"Who were your customers?"

"High schoolers. I was a teenager, so they sent me to a Midtown high school. I had to be the good student with the bitchin' grades so the administration wouldn't suspect me of being the drug-dealing low-life, in case you were wondering how I got into college." Lois said. She had been an A-B honor roll student even before running away, so there hadn't been any need to pretend. The honor roll students were rarely suspected of wrong-doing. "I had about fifty regular customers and a few of them were teachers. I also had to- _-_ I dunno, _seduce_ people into buying, if they wanted to, but weren't sure."

"Hah, and people ask me how drug-dealers are getting into the schools." Gordon scoffed, gleefully making a note of teenage plants. "So you did this for two years. How did you get out and more importantly, _why_?"

Lois found herself hesitating and her previous urge to tell all suddenly dried up. Because what came next... Well, that was where things got properly _gritty_. This was the thing that would have given her nightmares and regretted for the rest of her life if she had followed through. This was the thing she had refused to even hint at for fear of how people would regard her after. They already called her insane, but she could deal with that. But she couldn't deal with people calling her an almost-murderer on top of it.

Her gaze slid to the right, where she normally found Clark most days and for a vague second, she wondered why he wasn't there. He was usually so close at hand he was literally just in arm's reach and maybe she had gotten used to him being there.

If he was here, he'd probably do some physical contact and urge her to continue, polite little farm boy that he was. He would tell her that it was okay; this was for a good reason. He would assure her that she could say it out loud, even if he didn't know what it was.

Clark wouldn't judge her on something she hadn't even done.

Lois screwed her courage to the sticking point and took a breath. "Turned out the car theft? That was only _level one_ initiation." she said. "Two years in, I had to start proving my proverbial balls were made of steel. I had to show the gang that I was committed to the cause."

"By doing what?" Gordon asked, though he was half-sure what the answer was going to be.

"Two years in, that's when they expect you to start killing people." Lois said coolly, amazed at her own calm. "Sofia treats the first kill as a rite of passage. If you can do it, there would be no casual doubt about your loyalty. You became family. Opportunities opened up, you were given better treatment, higher access. You moved up in the world."

"And if you couldn't?" Gordon prompted.

The reporter spread her hands. "She didn't say."

It was probably death or some manner of disfigurement to ensure that the rejected gang member couldn't or wouldn't talk about life inside the ranks of the Suicide Kings. Sofia employed every possible way of ensuring silence from both her victims and her traitors.

"The thing is, they don't tell you what the next level is until they put the gun in your hands and show you the guy you have to shoot. But I'm me. I spied on the initiation of the guy ahead of me." Lois went on. She hated being uninformed.

It had been terrifying to learn what would have been expected of her. Lois had been out to rebel against her father and his military-strict style of parenting. Joining a gang had seemed like an excellent way of further spitting in his eye; another way of telling him that she wasn't his to control like a wind-up toy soldier.

Ella Lane's asthma had exacerbated a case of bronchitis into double pneumonia and though Lois still didn't know the details, she strongly suspected that her mother had drowned in an excess of mucus. As his wife had wasted away in the hospital, General Lane had burrowed deeper into the uniform. He had been hard to talk with before, but when it had become clear that Ella wouldn't live to the end of the month - _-_ that Thanksgiving would be the last holiday with the entire family - _-_ Lois had discovered that her father wouldn't even acknowledge her presence unless she saluted him first.

Lois had fully fallen out with her dad after the funeral. It was really Ella who had held them together; the only one of them who could talk to Sam Lane and not General Lane. Without her to be his interpreter, it was inevitable that they would fall apart.

General Lane had parented in the only manner he was familiar with; to become an uncompromising disciplinarian who expected his daughters to jump on command. It had been the exact opposite of what he'd used to expound, which was independence and the questioning of authority and never sacrificing one's ideals and morals. Lois had grated under the one-eighty turn-around, her freedom suddenly constricted in ways she had never imagined. Her only recourse had been to reclaim her independence and in her then-fifteen year old mind, that had meant running away.

Joining the gang had sweetened the pot.

Looking back, she should have realized the whole thing was a twisting rabbit warren that could have taken her to depths she only peripherally knew about.

In the end, she hadn't been about to compromise her morals and take a man's life.

"And you couldn't do it." Gordon concluded knowingly, as though he could see the thoughts going through her head.

"Of course not! I'm all for fucking someone over if they deserve it. I'm a muckraker of a reporter. It's what I do. But these people? These were people Sofia considered serious threats to her infrastructure. That didn't mean they were doing anything wrong or deserved to be shot in the head. Some of them were undercover cops or private investigators. Some just wanted to back out and didn't realize that Sofia's firing policy involved a gun." Lois emphasized, thumping her hands on the table-top. "There was no way I was going to be directly responsible for someone's death."

"So how did you get out?" Gordon asked.

"Well, that probably was the easy part. I called the cops on the next gang rally. Made sure I was holding a bag of acid tabs so they'd arrest me on the spot." Lois explained. Drug possession was officially on her record. "From the gang's perspective, I was just too slow to get away. It didn't look like I betrayed them. They had no reason to think I would talk and some of them knew who my dad was."

"For the record?" Gordon prompted.

"General Sam Lane, U.S. Army. He pulled some strings and got me house-arrest until graduation instead of jail-time. I wasn't allowed to get a driver's license until I was twenty and I had to check in with a parole officer once a week until the end of the year." Lois said. She leaned in a little. "And let's be honest. Sofia doesn't really make it a secret of what happens to traitors, whether you're out or not. I think she left me alone because I knew better."

"So I had better catch her this time." Gordon said, smirking a little.

Lois smirked right back. "You'd damn well better."

"Oh, I will." the detective promised. "Can you tell me a little more about the prison?"

* * *

The Major Crimes Unit was full of excellent people, but the freshly brewed coffee tasted like it had been sitting on the bottom of the pot since this morning. Colletta made a face, but sipped it anyways because the SCU was just too far away to make a coffee run.

"Here." She presented a second Styrofoam cup to Steve. "It tastes like the bag it came in, but it's caffeinated."

"Guess that's better than nothing." Steve commented, stretching out of his seat to take the cup from her. They were waiting outside the conference room for the interview to finish.

The former government agent sipped the hot coffee tentatively and his tongue wrinkled when he tasted the almost plastic-like tint lurking underneath the usual flavor of coffee. It almost put him off, but he had no idea how much longer he'd be sitting here and it was probably safer to stay awake.

"You said the SCU had better coffee?" he asked.

Colletta nodded. "Captain Jase has a cousin who works for some local coffee bean company or somewhere in the distribution line. Either way, the guy's high enough in management that he can sell a couple of cans of the good stuff and mark it out of the stock without getting in trouble." she said. She grinned. "Still thinking about that job in the SCU?"

"Do you think Lieutenant Sawyer would take my performance tonight as part of my résumé?" Steve wondered.

"I figure if we get through this alive and conscious, Maggie would have to be insane to shred your application. Hell, I might get up to Officer First Grade." Colletta said optimistically. She had been on the force about two and a half years now, so she was about due for a promotion just from sheer experience, but this might prompt the lieutenant to push the paperwork through early.

"Sofia Gigante is probably the last big threat in the city. We can't officially acknowledge her due to some bullshit going on in city hall, but if we can arrest her on a solid charge, and since Lois is already behind this, they won't have a leg to stand on." she added.

"There's bullshit going on in city hall?" Steve sounded surprised by this. Metropolis had always seemed like such a clean city to him, both in its appearance and in its government.

"There's _always_ bullshit going on in city hall. Not everyone from Mayor Berkowitz's reign of stupidity got outed and I'm not sure people know how to get them out." Colletta said with a half-born groan. She rolled her eyes too. "Berkowitz made a big speech about taking down the last of the organized crime and he did sort of wipe out the Gazzo family, but I think he was in league with Gigante or Falcone because he never actually went against them. Lois would know for sure, I bet."

"Do you really believe her when she says she used to work for one of Gigante's gangs?" Steve asked. Born in Oklahoma but raised in the ass-end of Philidelphia, he knew from experience that practically no gang member turned their lives around the way Lois evidently had. It seemed to stick with them like bad smell.

"Oh, I believe it." Colletta nodded, looking solemn for a moment. She sunk in her seat. "Ugh, Maggie's gonna have my head for this. I'm actually off-shift right now. I oughta be at home sleeping. I just really wanted ice cream."

"I think if we can bag Gigante, you won't get in any trouble." Steve consoled her. "How much longer do you think they'll be in there?"

As he asked this, they both turned their heads to look at the clock perched nearby. It was half-past two in the morning now and they had arrived at the station just a little after midnight.

Colletta shrugged. "Who knows? I've known Lois for years and she doesn't really talk about her teenage years or her time with the gang. So this is sort of unprecedented." she said. "She still refuses to say we're friends."

"Why?"

"I dunno. I'd be offended, but I think she does that with everyone. I've been meaning to talk to that Clark-guy she works with."

Someone cleared their throat and they both looked to find that they had been approached by a detective in a nice suit. He looked like he had just come on shift, his clothes not yet rumpled by ten hours on the job.

"I'm sorry for interrupting, but I need you two to come with me." he said.

"No can do, detective. I'm on protection detail for this gentleman and the woman getting interviewed right now. My lieutenant says so." Colletta said. "I've got my badge with me- _-_ Hold on, it's in my pocket."

"I really need you two to come with me." the detective repeated, a little more firmly.

"Are we doing something wrong?" Steve inquired.

"Just come with me." the detective said, beckoning to them.

Steve's eyes narrowed for a second. Something was up with this cop. It was common courtesy for an officer to tell you what was going on and if he wasn't mistaken, it was part of the legal process. Furthermore, it sounded like he was trying to circumvent the higher authority that had (supposedly) tasked Officer Kanigher with the job.

"Nope!" Colletta triumphantly held up the badge she had successfully extracted from her pocket. "Detective- Does that say 'Breene'? Yeah, Detective Breene, if you want me to abandon one of my charges without telling me why, you'll have to go through Lieutenant Sawyer first. Either call her cell phone or get written confirmation from her about the change of orders. But at this moment, my orders are to stay with both my charges."

Detective Breene frowned a little and then pulled his gun.

"You're under arrest." he announced.

Well, there went the shoe. The guy was definitely trying to be up to no good and they both knew it.

"I've done kickboxing since middle school. I'm a third kyu green belt." Colletta told him. The smirk that touched her face was just a little bit evil.

She was on her feet in a flash, her leg striking out in the precision form of a front kick at the drawn gun, knocking it right out of the detective's hand. The swiftness in which she moved and the power behind the strike proved just how adept she was.

The detective froze for just the second it took him to realize where his gun had gone and Colletta capitalized on it fully. She shifted back and then delivered two hook strikes into the man's center mass, one directly to the gut and the second to the liver. Detective Breene doubled over and sank down his knees, wrapping arms around his middle protectively. The younger officer didn't give him a second to catch his breath. She grabbed the lapels of his nice suit and hauled him up into an awkward position where he couldn't really get his feet under him.

 _I have the weirdest boner right now._ Steve realized.

"You know there's an entire task force in Internal Affairs dedicated to rooting out corrupt cops, right? You're so about to be fired." Colletta said. Her smile felt a little too Lois-like. "It's Gigante you work for, isn't it."

"I'm not telling you anything. Unhand me this instant." the detective ordered.

"You're threatening my charges and me. That's probable cause and an excuse for force, as far as I'm concerned." Colletta declared. She looked over her shoulder. "Hey Steve, go get Lois and the other detective."

Steve all but jumped out of his seat and went over to the conference room door while Colletta dragged Detective Breene out of the hallway. He didn't knock, but barged right in. His sudden entrance made Lois jump in a rather guilty manner, her mouth snapping shut.

"Hey, a dirty cop just tried to arrest us. Colletta handled him." the former government agent told them. "Gigante's on her way if she's not here already."

"Time to bail." Lois agreed, hastily getting out of the chair and eager to leave the interview. It wasn't quite done - _-_ there was still more to say - _-_ but she could use a break.

"I should stay here and get started building the case." Gordon said, turning off the recorder.

"Have you been listening to anything I said in the last two hours?" Lois scowled, putting her coat back on. "They're gonna search this room, find you, and someone'll break your spine. Hide that shit and come with us."

The detective hesitated.

"Look, there's no time to hem and haw." Steve snapped impatiently. "Either stay here or come with us, but there's only one safe option and I have a feeling you'll be safer by sticking with us."

"Think eyewitness in your own case." Lois added.

Which actually wasn't much of an incentive as it should have been. In the two years since Gordon had taken up the task of officially bringing in Sofia Gigante, he hadn't actually gotten more than a glimpse of her. Lois was all but saying out loud that by accompanying them, he had a very good chance of coming face-to-face with the mafia queen herself. It was tempting, but at the same time, not.

But fuck it, he wasn't going to make any progress by playing it safe!

He piled everything into a chair and shoved it under the table, then grabbed his coat.

"Let's go."

Colletta joined them again as Gordon was closing up the conference room.

"What did you do with the dirty detective?" Lois asked.

"Stuffed him in the utility closet and gagged him with a rag. Don't worry, it was clean." Colletta said assuredly, but her expression suggested otherwise. "I hope it was clean. I mean, it smelled clean."

"Ladies, we need to go." Steve interjected, not eager to get caught by the mafia queen and any of Trask's men accompanying her.

"C'mon, this way." Gordon instructed, gesturing for them to follow.

They walked at a brisk, purposeful pace back towards the parking garage. Fast enough that people got out of their way, but not so fast that it looked like they were running. Lois was keenly aware of every cop that glanced at them as they passed and her own words came back to her.

" _There's a few dirty cops in the ranks. Not very many, but we have no way of knowing who they are."_

She hadn't given it a whole lot of thought before, but now she was all too aware that any one of the cops they passed could be on Sofia's payroll. Any one of them could just step right out into their path and raise enough hell to get everyone around to notice them in a bad way.

Fortunately, that didn't happen. They made it to the third-floor skybridge across to the parking garage on the other side of the street without anyone attempting to stop them. Having led the procession thus far, Gordon stopped at the door just before entering the garage.

"All right, if they're here, this is where they'll try and ambush us." he said, peering through the glass.

"Yeah." Steve agreed, coming up beside him. "It's pretty empty out there, low ceiling, plenty of sight-lines. We'll be sitting ducks if they catch us. It's the perfect spot to try and pull off an ambush." He turned around. "Ladies- _-_ "

"Stay low and run like fuck, we know." Lois said dryly. "This isn't our first rodeo. I'm a reporter and she's a cop." she added, gesturing to Colletta. "And before you ask, the way _I_ report has a lot to do with dodging bullets. How do you think I got into this mess in the first place?"

Slowly, both men exchanged a look that said: _You're welcome to try and argue with her, but I'm starting to figure out that neither of us would win._ For a second, they both looked briefly uncomfortable with discovering that they were thinking the same thing and then sighed in resignation.

"What Miss Lane- _-_ Lois said. Stay low and run like hell." Gordon said. For a safety measure, he loosened the gun in its holster. "Officer Kanigher, if it's all the same to you, I'd like to be the one driving."

"There isn't some over-manly, attempted chivalrous reason for that, is there?" Colletta wondered, frowning.

"How often are you in police chases?" Gordon asked. He knew the SCU wasn't the department that regularly engaged in cross-city chases that required some pretty slick driving skills to avoid becoming a smear on the roads.

"Good point." Colletta conceded, taking out her keys. "Reverse gear sticks a little; be careful with my baby. I'll trade you keys for gun. You'll need your hands free."

"Cover my back."

They made the swap quickly and all four of them stepped up to the glass doors, ready to push them open.

"All right, we've got to hit that pavement running." Steve said, falling easily back into his old Air Force role of team leader. "We're not parked too far away, but there's nothing between us and the car except empty parking spaces. We shouldn't cluster together or we'll just be easier targets. Believe it or not, a zig-zag pattern of running actually works."

"Be a majestic gazelle." Lois commented.

"In spirit." Steve agreed, grinning. "On three, okay?"

"Just go!" Lois shouted, her voice carrying a commanding note that had made more than one photographer and failed partner jump to their feet. The commanding note she had learned from her father.

The four of them burst out of the doors and pelted across the concrete of the garage. In almost the same second, there was the screech of tires and out of the corner of her eye, Lois caught a glimpse of a familiar-looking black SUV barreling up the last few feet of ramp.

"Company!" she shouted.

Colletta skidded to a halt and raised the Beretta 92 to eye-level, aiming for the windshield of the oncoming vehicle. It was probably bullet-proof glass, but if she could just crack it enough...

She squeezed off just two rounds, wincing at the eardrum cracking echo that seemed to split the concrete. She didn't wait to see if the bullets hit - _-_ the SUV was already swerving away - _-_ and sprinted off towards her car. By the time she got there, Gordon had gotten the engine going and Lois and Steve had piled into the backseat, the former sergeant with his upper body halfway out the open window and the Tec-9 in his hands.

"Let's get out of here!" Colletta threw herself into the empty front seat and slammed the door.

Gordon shifted out of park and stomped on the gas. The car jumped forward like a previously restrained dog and the tires squealed as Gordon spun the wheel to angle to the car the opposite direction from the SUV's resumed approach.

"There's a vehicle on our ass!" Steve announced.

"I noticed! Just the one?" Gordon wondered.

"For now!"

But even just the one SUV was coming up fast on their tail as they made for the exit ramp. Gordon was forced to slow down in order not to smash the car off the curving wall. Colletta had a white-knuckled grip on the seat under her, praying that her insurance would cover any damage the car suffered in the next few minutes. Lois and Steve watched anxiously out the back window as the SUV roared up to the back fender.

"They're right on our ass!" the former sergeant announced.

"It's Trask!" Lois realized, biting down on a growl.

She had just made out the regimented cut of his hair, catching the flash of his blue-gray eyes in the lights they passed under. That stern jaw and hard countenance was nearly impossible to mistake. Beside him in the passenger's seat was the same dark-skinned, swole fellow. Back when she had run with the Suicide Kings, he had called himself Kneecaps Lou.

"Just when I thought we'd gotten away from him." Steve muttered, shaking his head.

The SUV surged forward with a roar and crunched into the rear fender.

"Whoa!" Gordon had to resist every instinct to swing the car out of striking range, for an inch too far to the left or right would have rammed them right into the wall.

"Watch the dents, fuckers!" Colletta shouted out the window. "My insurance only covers so much!"

She leveled the Beretta 92 again and fired to get Trask off their ass and this time, she saw the windshield crack under the bullet's impact. The jerk-hole agent hit the brakes rather than swerve.

"Step on it as much as you can!" Lois shouted at Gordon, almost lunging over the driver's seat to take the wheel herself.

"We're almost out!" the detective assured them.

And sure enough, the next curve yielded the open street rather than another expanse of concrete wall. The car shot free of the parking garage's confines and spun out onto the road. Gordon straightened out the nose and stomped the gas. The tires squealed again.

"Where were you going before?" he asked.

"The Slums, if we can still get there!" Lois answered.

"I'll get you as close as possible." Gordon said. "We're going this way!"

He checked the street signs and then depressed the brake to get safely around the next right turn. Lois caught a glimpse of the _Daily Planet_ 's globe through the towers and the mental map of the city in her head suddenly oriented itself. Gordon was taking them south towards Hob's Bay and they were closer to the Ordway Memorial Bridge than the Queensland Bridge.

Another black SUV suddenly appeared on the right side and slammed into the smaller car with a nasty crunching noise. Lois threw herself away from the window instinctively and Gordon yanked on the wheel to send Colletta's car away from the aggressive SUV.

"That's not Trask! That's one of his buddies!" Steve realized, pushing Lois back up.

"They're trying to run us off the road!" the reporter added.

"I think we could tell!" Colletta shouted.

"Hang on!" Gordon pressed the gas pedal all the way to the floor. The buildings seemed to rear back slightly and the lit-up form of the Ordway Memorial seemed to come up all too quickly. At this time of night, the suspension bridge was abandoned.

 ***BANG!***

"Was that a bullet?!" Colletta yelped, twisting in her seat, trying to find where the damage was. "Who's that fucker shooting at my car?! My insurance doesn't cover bullet holes!"

There was another * **crack-bang!*** of gunfire and the distinct ***thunk*** of a bullet slamming harmlessly into the trunk.

"Trask is that fucker." Lois told the young police officer. A second SUV had joined the first, this one with a cracked windshield and Trask's face just barely visible in the dimness.

"He's a dead fucker." Colletta vowed.

"We're almost at the bridge!" Gordon said.

"Faster! Drive faster!" Steve ordered.

"I can't! Pedal's down!"

The SUVs advanced on up on either side of the smaller car even as the road narrowed slightly where the cables of the bridge rose up, and dare Lois say there was something quite predatory about the way they moved. Trask hung back just off the fender while the other crept up on the left and sideswiped the car again. Gordon swerved away, but that was exactly what the other SUV wanted. It swooped in so Gordon couldn't maneuver out of the far right lane, all but pinning them against the wall.

"Oh this is bad." Lois commented, a sinking feeling coming over her. She settled into the other seat and grabbed the seatbelt.

"Is that necessary?" Steve wondered, eyeing her like she was a very particular sort of insane for wanting to mind vehicular safety when they were already in a car chase.

Lois raised an eyebrow and half a second later, cursed her foresight.

Trask rear-ended them _hard_ , hitting the car at just the right angle to send the smaller car spin out of control. The other SUV braked suddenly, allowing the wild car to spin out past it.

He rammed the car again, crunching in the front right side, and that was the last nail in the proverbial coffin. Colletta's car wasn't big, but it still weighed in the neighborhood of three thousand pounds and not an ounce of that was under Gordon's control. Not at one hundred and twenty miles an hour. The back end crashed through the metal railing separating the roadway from the pedestrian path and then through the railing that separated the pedestrians from a long fall to the water. There was just too much momentum working on the car for both railings to stop it.

A terrifying jolt yanked on Lois's stomach when the car suddenly tilted backwards too far to be saved and too suddenly to be stopped. For a moment, they seemed to hang, tilted on the edge of the bridge, and then they plummeted.

* * *

-0-

oh my goodness we have new kittens


	21. Between the Devil and Lake Superior

We're at sixty-plus reviews and the hit count is nearly at 4000! I think my shameless self-promotion over on tumblr is beginning to show some return.

Contrary to how the last chapter read, Superman is not here to save the day just yet.

In related news, story 3 is coming along nicely, if a little slowly. There are quite a few balls in the air, plot-wise, and I've got to make sure that nothing gets dropped. If you plan on sticking around for the _very long_ term, you're going to see that I do a lot of set-up and foreshadowing for the future installments, so not everything is going to be completely followed through on right away.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-One: Between the Devil and Lake Superior

Lois was rapidly adding too many near-death experiences to her record and half of them seemed to involve water one way or another. Maybe that was just due to the sheer amount of it around them, what with Lake Superior on three sides.

Colletta's poor bullet-flecked and certainly totaled Honda Civic plunged backwards into Hob's Bay, hitting the water trunk-first. The heavy engine block up front didn't immediately drag them down which gave the young police officer enough time to raise the gun and shoot out the windshield, putting a spider-web of cracks in it that would make it easy to break.

"Hold your breath." she said, smashing out the window beside her with the butt of the Beretta. Gordon did the same on his side, using the ice scraper.

"Hilarious." Lois drawled, as the water rushed up the sides of the car. She inhaled two lungfuls of air and unbuckled her seat belt.

She nearly lost those lungfuls when the water gushed over the rim of the broken windows and poured down on them, as icy and bitterly cold she had imagined it would be and she hadn't closed her coat before getting into the car.

 _I think I'm going to need another coat._ She realized, annoyed that this was twice in a span of five weeks.

Through the water trying to pour in through her ears, she heard another ***bang!*** of the gun, the last time Colletta could fire it before the water made it useless, and the windshield split open fully, a jagged hole appearing to blossom in the glass. That was when the car sunk fully beneath the water and the vaguely orange-colored night sky turned dark, only the headlights cutting through the gloom. The water swirled in earnestly, soaking into her clothes and into her skin. She tried hard not to gasp.

Ahead of her, silhouetted against the beams of the headlights, Lois saw Colletta kick out the last of the glass and push herself through the hole of the windshield with Gordon following her quickly. She just barely saw Steve make an stupidly chivalristic 'after you' gesture like he wasn't in any danger of drowning. All the same, she heaved herself out of the back seat and hurriedly swam upwards before the cold ate too far into her muscles.

It was hard going, between the cold and the weight of her coat. Lois was reluctant to shed it to make swimming easier, because she didn't want to lose yet another winter coat (the good ones were expensive). But she made it to the surface, breaking through the small waves with a loud gasp. The night air stung bitterly at her face and her hair tried to plaster itself to her eyeballs and the water seemed to pull on her limbs as she tread it. It was even worse than when Clark had pulled her out of the water, but then again, Clark had been a lovely furnace of body heat.

Steve surfaced a couple of feet away beside her, his first breath of air no less loud and gasping.

"Everyone all right?" Gordon called out, a little closer at hand than Lois thought he was.

"Peachy! My car isn't, but I'm good! Lois?" Colletta inquired.

"Alive and kicking." the reporter replied.

"I'm good too." Steve added.

"Good. Let's get to shore."

There was a distant pop-sound and Lois almost felt a sizzle of air just past her face. _Something_ small and unidentifiable zinged into the water just behind her ear. It only took her a split-second to realize that it may have been a bullet.

Gordon had the same thought too, even as another small possible-bullet whizzed past, and he looked up to the platform of the bridge where at least three men were vaguely visible, pointing what had to be guns down at the water.

"They're shooting at us!" he shouted, jerking away from another bullet aimed in his general direction. "Get to shore!"

Lois didn't waste any time trying to say anything. Though it went against everything she wanted to do right now, she gulped in a deep breath and dove back beneath the cold water. It was murky and nearly impossible to see where she was going, but she knew the bridge was on her right and that was the first direction she swam in. Get beneath the bridge and they wouldn't be able to shoot her anywhere near as easily.

When she was sure that she was under the bridge, she surfaced just briefly to get her bearings and heard the ping and pop of bullets hitting the water to her left, then dove again and started swimming. At the speed with which they had been moving across the bridge, they had made it nearly three-quarters of the way across before Trask and his fellows had knocked them over the side. They were closer to the Pelham shore rather than the docks of Hob's Bay.

Being closer did not make the swim any easier, however. Lois had always been a decent swimmer - _-_ not a distance swimmer, it wasn't like she really hit the pools or the beach regularly. But she was decent. Swimming had never been particularly difficult for her.

Except now.

She was going to make this instance an exception to the usual, given that she was dragging her body through thirty-something degree water in early November while being sixty miles south of the Canadian border.

Swimming was _always_ harder when the water was practically trying to freeze around you.

She surfaced again underneath the span of the bridge when she felt the scrape of the sandy bottom against her legs and tried to stand upright, but the more of her body she exposed to the winter air, the harder she shivered. The cold air nipped at her exposed skin and she cursed herself, once again, for wearing a goddamn skirt.

 _That's fucking it, I'm wearing pants in the winter from now on._

Not far ahead of her, Steve was briskly shaking the water out of his hair and Gordon was already standing on solid ground, rubbing his hands almost furiously up and down his neck in an effort to warm both parts.

"Lois, body heat!" Colletta said in a manner that was way too cheery for the fact they had just crawled out of Hob's Bay. She splashed through the shallows and then wrapped herself around the reporter. She wasn't the furnace of body heat that Clark was, but Colletta had always run a little hotter than most and so the intrusion was quite welcome.

"Get out of the water, at least." Lois grumbled, staggering forward with the cop all but hanging off her shoulders. They were still-knee deep in the Bay and she didn't have much feeling left in her toes. "L-Let's go over there." she added, nodding her head towards the anchor tower of the bridge.

At the foot of the tower was a few members of Metropolis's homeless population - _-_ an unfriendly-looking bunch who had seen some very hard days and harder drugs, but they had a fire going in a metal trash can and its flickering lure of warmth was too hard to ignore.

Getting warm enough to stave off frost-bite was the immediate priority, so the four of them made their staggering and listing way over to the trash can fire. The vagabonds scattered around it took one look at them dripping water everywhere and kindly moved away to make some room. The fire had been burning strong for a few hours now, so the immediate area around the can was toasty warm and it was a little like stepping into a sauna. They huddled as close as they could without actually setting themselves on fire.

When the teeth-chattering slowed and they could feel the tips of their fingers again, it was Steve who spoke first.

"So, now what?" he asked.

"Well, they're obviously trying to kill because we know too much and have said too much and we're probably in a position to stop them." Gordon replied. "We need to get off the grid before they can try again."

"Duh, but there's a problem there. _Anyone_ could rat us out." Lois said pointedly, making a vague gesture that still encompassed the dark area beneath the bridge where a good dozen homeless degenerates had found shelter from the elements. "That brick wall we're up against has stoolie canaries all over the city and they're always looking to win her favor. We're stuck between the devil and Lake Superior here."

"I know we're not going to make it to the Slums from here." Colletta commented.

"What do you suggest we do, Miss Lane?" Steve asked.

"Fuck if I know! Isn't that what we're trying to figure out right now?" Lois demanded, wondering why the former agent thought she was the one with the plan. "C'mon people, let's get a group-think going. Brainstorm! Plot, plan, scheme. We've got two cops, an Air Force sergeant, and me, the _Daily Planet_ reporter. I'm sure none of us got that far by not being clever and intelligent. I know I didn't."

The two cops in question shared an uncertain look. Gordon had come out of the starting gate a detective with a Master's degree in criminology under his belt and Colletta had had the experience of growing up in the city's absolute worst area. Though their experiences had been very different, their opinions on the mafia queen were the same.

Sofia Gigante was no dumb thug. She was very intelligent and an excellent strategist. She had been working Metropolis over for the better part of twenty-five years and she had built herself a very solid foundation. There hadn't been so much as a flicker of destabilization when her husband Rocco had died in a shoot-out with the declining Gazzo family ten years earlier. The Gigante crime family had weathered the rough times and had come out stronger for it. The mafia queen wouldn't let herself be brought down even by two cops, a former Air Force sergeant, and a reporter, no matter how tenacious and determined they were.

While Steve didn't know much about Gigante, he did know Trask and how Bureau 39 operated under his command. For what reason Trask had started working with Gigante, there was no way of knowing without asking. But Trask was obviously going to get something that he sorely wanted out of the partnership and thus he had every reason to fight for it. He had been chasing his alien, codenamed 'Prometheus', for almost seven years now and showed no signs of flagging. He was not a man who knew how to give up.

Lois, on the other hand, was stubbornly optimistic in her own way.

" _Well_?" she demanded.

"I suppose," Colletta started slowly. "We could hide out on the college campus tonight and raid the lost'n'found bin for dry clothes. I know how to get into the service corridors and no one checks the boiler room until about six."

Gordon shook his head. "The campus two or three miles from here and our clothes our wet. We'd never make it." he reminded them. It was also below freezing tonight. The only reason ice crystals hadn't formed in their hair was because they were around a hot fire and slowly drying out.

"My apartment is a five minute walk from here." Lois told them.

"Yeah, pretty sure they're going to have that under surveillance." Steve pointed out.

"Have you got a better idea?" Lois shot at him, scowling. "Sofia knows I'm not stupid enough to go back to my apartment if she's looking for me, so it's probably not under _close_ watch. I know what I'm suggesting is a really bad idea, but we also just can't hang around here in these wet clothes. Sooner or later, we're going to be spotted by the wrong people if the frostbite doesn't get us first."

There was a contemplative sort of hum that went between the other three, interrupted by pop and crackle of the fire. Lois's apartment was easily one of the first places that had been placed under watch when Trask and Gigante had teamed up to hunt them down. It should have been the only place they wouldn't think about going, no matter how dire their straits were. That was like spotting a bear trap in the woods and stepping on it anyways.

But if Lois was right and there was a chance that her apartment wasn't being watched very well or at all...

"I don't have a better plan than the college." Colletta admitted, shrugging.

"I don't know the city well enough to be of any help." Steve said. "If we were in D.C., I'd be all over hiding places, but we're not. So like I've said before, I'm open to any suggestions."

It was three against one but they glanced at Gordon anyways to see if he had anything to say. The detective huffed up a resigned sigh.

"Only if we're there long enough to dry off and change clothes, and then we'll hide out at the college like Officer Kanigher suggested." he conceded. Getting warm and dry again was a distinct priority and the sooner they could take care of that, the better. "Lead on, Miss Lane."

Lois looked both men up and down for a second. "You two might have to wear a pair of my longer skirts. I don't think I've got sweatpants that'll fit you."

Steve and Gordon exchanged looks that were _just_ this side of mortified. Colletta sniggered and hoped her phone still worked.

They broke away from the fireside and set off through the neighborhood at something of a jog, Lois leading the way. It was a weird one that seemed to have been built out of suburbia, modified and restructured after Metropolis city limits had expanded to include it. It still contained many of the weird curving streets that turned back on themselves instead of following a sensible grid-like structure that ensured no one occasionally got lost trying to find their own homes.

But it was a calm neighborhood, populated largely by young adults who were fresh out of college and the aged refugees from Racine, many of whom were too wrapped up in their lives to make actual trouble. There was quite an alarming number of coffee shops and specialty cafes (from vegan to gluten-free) and tiny music venues that served only assorted nuts and designer beers and featured aspiring musical artists who could either strum a guitar or write song lyrics but couldn't do both with equal skill.

There was a kind of rivalry between the perennially broke artsy hipsters and the DINK yuppies whose shit was so together everyone else looked like a hot mess; sort of like the Greasers and the Socs, but it never broke down like West Side Story. Fewer knife-fights, more aggressive finger-snapping.

"Lois, I think the coffee shops around here are reproducing at an alarming rate." Colletta said as they jogged past the fifth coffee shop she had seen in just two blocks and it appeared to be some hybrid of the first three.

"Is the city running some sort of experimental breeding program for them? Cultivating them like flowers to produce as many variations on the themes as possible?" Gordon asked, eyeing a sixth at the end of the street that looked like it was featuring some sort of garden theme.

"Is the coffee even any good?" Steve wondered. He was thinking it had to be, if there was going to be so many of the shops competing for business.

"They call this area Beantown. The explosion is inevitable. It's just a matter of time before the coffee grounds hit the fan." Lois replied, essentially answering both questions at once. The coffee related infrastructure around here was due to collapse when people finally worked out what they did and did not like and they would be down to only a few coffee houses instead of two on each block.

Fortunately, Lois's apartment was situated outside of Beantown where the smell of fresh brew didn't saturate the air at all hours of the day and night. It was a matter of minutes from the water's edge and at the jogging pace, they reached the entrance to the complex in just three minutes. Steve slowed them down as they approached the drive and gestured for them to go lurk in the ornamental bushes.

"Where's your building?" he asked.

"Down that road, when it takes a hard left. We could cut through the yards and get in through the back door." Lois said. He was probably worried about being spotted under the street lights. The back yards would afford them a better measure of safety and their tracks would hardly be the first to crisscross it.

"Alright, I don't see anything that looks like a surveillance team." Steve declared. The parking lots were clear of anything particularly tell-tale.

"Still need to be careful." Gordon said softly.

"Still can't stay out here." Colletta reminded them.

As if to further expound that point, the wind chose that moment to pick up just enough to send a shiver through the quartet, which reminded them that their clothes were still quite damp. Steve and Gordon chose not to mutter on about safety any further and gestured for Lois to take the lead through the backyards.

She was correct in her assessment that they were not the only ones tromping around back there. Half the boot-tracks were accompanied by paw prints and the other people were heading to their night-jobs. Down from the back door was a sidewalk that led to the bike/pedestrian path. There was still snow coming down; their tracks would be largely filled in by morning.

They got inside without anyone noticing, as far as Lois could tell. The interior hallway wasn't heated, exactly, but just getting out of the chill breeze (however faint) was a relief. They went up the stairs (Lois was on the third floor) and checked the lock on her apartment door to determine whether or not it had been tampered with. It showed no signs of having been forced open so it was probably- _-_ _probably_ safe to go in.

She had a pretty good apartment - _-_ and seriously, she wasn't going to pay four hundred and fifty a month for a hole in the wall - _-_ with a washer and dryer, and a balcony that faced towards Downtown and gave her picturesque view of the Queensland and Ordway Memorial Bridges.

The reporter ushered her companions over the threshold, but before she could turn on any lights, Colletta asked: "Lois, you didn't happen to take up smoking, did you?"

 _Oh crap..._

A feeling that wasn't quite dread crept over Lois. It had the same weight as dread, but it was more in the flavor of resignation, like she should have expected this. She turned around to face the rest of the apartment and a lamp clicked on. Sofia Gigante sat in one of the armchairs, her massive frame filling it up past capacity. Her legs extended too far to the coffee table and her wrists hung over the end of the arms. Standing on either side of her were two lackeys of thug-like proportions. One had a buzz-cut and the other was bald. The latter was the source of the cigarette stink pervading the apartment. Both of them carried heavy automatic rifles. They were not there to protect Sofia but rather to ensure that no one got any cute ideas.

"Miss Lane." Sofia greeted her in that deep, throaty voice that purred like a distant rumble of thunder. She smiled at the other three. "And the great detective who has been sniffing after my operations." she added, favoring Gordon briefly with a nod. "I will not pretend that I recognize you two."

"No one was expecting you to." Colletta muttered, crossing her arms.

"Okay, I have to ask. What made you think I'd come back here?" Lois asked, assuming by now that the mafia queen actually hadn't been at the police station.

"You have many admirable qualities, Lois, and your penchant for being unpredictable is one of them." Sofia said. "But I know you quite well. I did help mold you into what you are. Likewise, you should know that I am no fool. I am of Gotham stock. We do not, as you might say, _fuck around_ when it comes to precautions and taking them."

Lois crossed her arms. "Look, if you're going to haul us off to ominous and poorly lit places to beat our faces in, can we change our clothes first? We crawled out of Hob's Bay, the water was cold, and there's just something incredibly undignified about dying in wet clothes. Plus, I am this close to getting these two into a pair of my skirts." she said, jerking a thumb at Steve and Gordon.

"No. There are dry towels in the van." Sofia said shortly. She started to stand up. "Burgess, Duncan. Escort them out, please. And Lois?"

"Yes?" Lois asked with a kid of gritted teeth polite-ness.

Sofia stepped up very close to the reporter in order to better loom over her and use her height to intimidate.

"I have not yet made up my mind about killing you or your companions. Please do not endeavor to make that decision for me."

Lois would never admit to the feeling of liquid fear that poured out of her stomach and down to her knees, making them wobble ever so slightly. That made her feel like she didn't have any handle on this situation, not in any capacity. Up close, the mafia queen was rather majestic to behold. The best had been made of her masculine features, from the thick brow bones to the heavy jaw and the sharp nose that jutted like a beak. In a world dominated and ruled by men, her manly features had helped her win a great deal more respect than what she might have gotten had she been a pretty face. It was said that no one really got close enough to Sofia Gigante to appreciate the way she looked, and if they did, they didn't live long enough to tell anyone.

And just like that, Lois remembered why most people were afraid of this woman.

And she wondered why she was never afraid enough.

Lois, Colletta, Steve, and Gordon were shuttled across the city in the back of a van with the windows blacked out and no view out the front. They were indeed supplied with dry towels once they had been shut in the back and that was definitely more generosity than Lois would have expected from the mafia queen. But she probably didn't want them to freeze to death before she had the chance to grill them on their knowledge or hand them over to Trask.

The van took too many turns for any of them to properly trace their route and they spent long enough in it that they could have easily left the city, but the reporter had strong suspicions about where they were going.

Almost forty-five minutes later, the van finally halted and the engine was turned off, and the silence in the back finally became too oppressive to ignore,

"Where do you think we are?" Steve asked softly.

"The Slam, probably." Lois shrugged. "It's where Sofia sends all the people she hates too much to kill."

"Oh, joy." Colletta groaned, rolling her eyes.

"Don't worry, you won't die with us." the reporter told Steve. "Sofia will probably turn you over to Trask and you might at least get the comfort of a federal prison, if you're lucky."

"Ah, well..." Steve crossed his arms grumpily. "Something to look forward to."

Gordon raised an eyebrow. "And the rest of us?"

"Ask her if you can write down instructions for your funeral."

The detective scowled. "Delightful."

The back doors were unlocked, revealing the grim and grinning visages of Burgess and Duncan, baldy and buzz-cut, respectively. Beyond them, Lois saw the interior of an underground parking garage where the lighting was just this side of gloomy. She had only been to the Slam twice as a guest, but she had never forgotten how it looked.

"Let me guess. Welcome to hell?" she questioned.

Both men nodded.

They needed no prompting to get out. Such was the position they were in, they would not get the upper hand if they tried to fight back and run for it. Duncan and Burgess were far from the only armed thugs hanging around in the garage. From her vantage point by the bumper of the van, Lois counted some ten or so lackeys unloading a food delivery truck but the noise in the garage told her there were a lot more of them.

Sofia came striding across the concrete towards them, the top of her head looking like it would brush against the ceiling for how tall she was. She had long, powerful strides. Commanding ones. Even someone who had never seen her before would have no doubt that she was in charge.

The mafia queen snapped out a harsh-sounding command in Italian and two more thug-guards seemed to swoop in out of nowhere. They descended on Colletta, Steve, and Gordon and hustled them away to a door on the far side. Duncan grabbed Lois's elbow in a mockery of a gentlemanly escort and pulled her away from the van and towards the main entrance.

"Am I getting the VIP treatment?" the reporter asked snarkily.

"Hush." Duncan suggested.

Lois made a face, but Sofia looming up in her wake, she felt it wiser to keep her mouth closed.

The reporter was taken to a private room that had the decorating scheme of an airport lounge complete with a large picture window that overlooked the Siegel River and the rail yard on the other side. Two couches that were upholstered in soft imitation leather with knitted afghans draped over the back, plush chairs, inset lights, and yes, that was definitely a wet bar on one side of the room.

Lois was pushed down on to one of those couches and she grimaced when the damp material of both her skirt and her coat squeezed out a little excess water out onto her legs. As soon as Duncan gave her the room, she started shucking off her coat.

Sofia waved a hand dismissively and the thug promptly vacated from the lounge, closing the door behind him. The mafia queen seated herself on the couch opposite and sat there like a statue, watching the reporter wrestle her coat off.

"So," Lois started, once she had set the coat aside. "When are you gonna stick me in front of the next stupid initiate to be executed?"

Sofia's expression flickered and she suddenly reared back with a petrifying anger and her large hand swung at Lois's face. The smaller woman flinched and cringed reflexively, squeezing her eyes shut, not enough time to get out of the way, just brace for impact- _-_ but the only thing that brushed up to her skin was a puff of air. Cautiously, Lois opened her eyes and found that Sofia's hand had stopped merely an inch from actually touching her cheek.

"Hush, Miss Lane. You have tried my patience enough for one day." She tapped the reporter's cheek lightly. "Please do not make this worse for yourself."

"What's to make worse?" Lois asked, squashing the need to scoot down the couch even as the hand withdrew from her personal space. "Only one of us is getting out of this place alive and it'll be the one who axes redwoods with her shins, not the plucky intrepid reporter."

Sofia frowned. "The fact you can call yourself a plucky intrepid reporter without openly vomiting is both horrifying and admirable. Mostly horrifying." she drawled. She shook her head in dismay. "You have truly sunk into mediocrity."

"I resent that." Lois muttered, crossing her arms. "I've done everything but go mediocre."

"I'm going to help you restore some of your dignity." the mafia queen went on, as though Lois hadn't spoken. "Quite frankly, Lois, I want you back in the fold. Not as a gang grunt, but as one of my lieutenants."

Lois blinked.

Then blinked again.

Had she heard wrong?

She must have, because there was no way Sofia had just declared she wanted Lois back...

But that was exactly what the woman had said.

" _What_? Why?!" Lois demanded, doing a double-take when the words sunk in. "Why the hell would you want me back in the gang knowing I'm potentially a risk?"

The million dollar question, because surely Sofia _knew_ exactly what Lois had done in order to get out of the Suicide Kings. She had betrayed the gang by calling the cops on the rally. There was just no way that Sofia didn't at least suspect what had really gone down that night!

"You are a reporter. And more to the point, you are a reporter who appeals to a very wide audience both through the newspaper and the internet." Sofia answered. "You wield the power of the press and I will not deny that you do it very efficiently. As such, you are ideally placed to help me build the foundation that Metropolis will need if it's expected to thrive beyond all expectations."

For the second time that day, Lois burst into loud and inappropriately timed laughter.

"You're fucking with me, right? Hah! Get over yourself! There's no way Sofia Gigante and the Gotham connection could ever help this city positively! You'd only ever bring Metropolis to ruin!"

"Quite the contrary," started a man's voice and Lois stiffened. She whirled off the couch onto her feet just in time to see her father, General Sam Lane, step out of an alcove by the door, where he must have been lurking since she was brought in.

"Fuck you, General Dad." she snarled.

"Lois, do we need to have another discussion about your language?" General Lane chided.

Lois rolled her eyes, crossing her arms."I'm a grown-ass woman; I can swear however damn much I want to, fuck you very much." she snapped. "On that note, what are you even doing here and why am I not actually that surprised to see you?"

The lack of surprise to the fact he was here actually surprised her more. Her dad did have a bad habit of turning up unexpectedly like a case of the hiccups or an itchy rash. Everything from Trask to Gigante; what else did he have his fingers in?

"Stop thinking so dramatically, Lois. You always seem to look for the worst in everything." General Lane said, sounding disappointed by his daughter's thought process. "Metropolis isn't going to become a ruin. Mrs. Gigante's influence will only help the city."

"Really? Tell that to Gotham, which is controlled more by the crime families than a legitimate government." Lois said acidly. Gotham was a prime example of what happened when the system utterly fell apart and was rebuilt without supervision from a neutral party. There was a reason no one had ever been able to dislodge the mobs from their lofty perches. It was because they had built the system to support them. "How the fuck do you expect someone from the Falcone family to _help_ Metropolis? To my knowledge, that's not even possible."

"Then your knowledge is limited. You still have a lot to learn about the world, Lois." General Lane told her, his tone a touch patronizing. "Metropolis is at a crossroads. It's a critical juncture that will determine the city's future and we must choose carefully. Mrs. Gigante will help us make the right choice. There are people in this city's highest offices who have _no idea_ what they're doing up there and should disaster strike, it is their incompetent hands that will ruin us. It will take a necessary evil to remove them before they can incite a disaster of their own making, however accidently... Are you done rolling your eyes at me?"

"I'll be done when they fall out of my head." Lois replied, for she had been rolling her eyes and mouthing _'oh my gawd..._ ' the whole time her father had been speaking. "That's some grade-A horse-pucky coming out of your mouth, Pops. And you wonder why I split from the happy homestead at light-speed.

"First!" She put up a finger to emphasize the first point. "You're not talking about a better future or even a brighter tomorrow, but preserving a toxic status quo that very nearly did sink Metropolis into the lake when Berkowitz got his grubby paws on things. Second, I think it says quite a lot that the people threw their vote at the inexperienced sewage official over yet another rich white male GOP asshole who believes menstruation is a fem-nazi myth, among other things. Do you _want_ Metropolis to end up like Gotham or something? Because with what you're proposing, that's the only outcome."

"We're doing this so Metropolis _doesn't_ end up like Gotham!" General Lane barked.

"Funny way of goin' about it." Lois muttered, giving herself another eye-roll. "Yeah, no. You don't solve a problem by creating another one and you certainly don't help Metropolis by getting rid of the one good mayor we've had in almost a decade. You can go ahead with your little plan if you want, but don't come crawling to me when it blows up in your face. Because it _will_ blow up in your face, I'll make sure of it. I am under no obligation to help you in any way, somewhat because I'm expected to be impartial, but mostly because I don't want to."

"Lois, family has to stick together." General Lane said.

"No, no! Don't you _dare_ , General Dad! Don't you dare play the only card in your hand!" Lois snapped, her hands clenching into fists. "The last time you tried to play happy families, you pulled me out of college and dragged me halfway around the world to Corto Maltese where I nearly got my knees shot out from under me by a bunch of would-be revolutionaries!

"What about Lucy? Gonna drag her into this so-called 'family affair' and stick her on a corner handing out leaflets? I thought you didn't want her turning out like me." she snarled. "And to think I expected better of you!"

General Lane's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"What do you _think_ I'm talking about? You, big stern army man, by the book and everything, just shat on your own integrity by aligning yourself with a Falcone." Lois sneered. "Jeezus Christ, Dad, everyone as far as San Fran knows the Falcones are bad news because they're out of Gotham and Gotham is the worst of the worst! How do you think it got that way? There's crime in plain sight, corruption bursting out of every rotting inch, and a city government at the beck and call of the mob families! And all because _somebody_ let them get their hands on the lynchpin!

"If you follow through and let Sofia have her wicked way with this city, we could very well end up like Gotham. It could take a decade, but do you really want to be looking back on this day and realizing you're the one who let Metropolis fall ass-first into hell where it burns in the sulfur pits right alongside Gotham?"

"Lois, you don't understand our position." General Lane started in a would-be calm tone, though Lois did hear the underlying tinge of frustration.

"No, I understand that your position is threatened. I understand that you're afraid of no longer being the most important thing in the world." the reporter put in before he could say anything. "But toxic is toxic and I'm not going to have anything to do with it. So you know what? Get off my ass, let me and my friends go, and come back once you can emote like an adult human being with sensible reasoning and logic."

"Don't speak to me like that!" General Lane roared suddenly, angrily. It was a magnificent, slightly frightening sight, because he didn't get visibly angry very often. "I didn't raise you to be so disrespectful!"

"You barely raised me at all! Mom did most of the work!" Lois shouted right back.

General Lane flinched back like she had taken a swing at him, but Lois felt no remorse about playing the Mom card. It was true; her father hadn't had much to do with her upbringing. When he had gotten involved, it was mostly to lecture her on acceptable behavior in front of the brass and the occasional treatise on independent thinking. The actual part of instilling her with morals and ethics and integrity had been taken up by Ella. Lois was much more like her mother than she could ever be like her father. It was something the man always forgot.

Sofia clapped her hands suddenly and the sound made Lois flinch.

"Well, your family dynamics could use some work, but you have also strayed away from the purpose of this conversation." the mafia queen remarked dryly. She could really see why Lois had chosen a gang over staying at home. It was a bit odd to think that this military general had produced a daughter like Lois.

"General Lane," Sofia settled a large hand down on Lois's shoulder. "We have dropped a considerable bombshell on your daughter. I do believe she will need some time to think it over in peace and quiet. The sooner she realizes that it is the only option, the sooner we can begin."

"Oh _please_..." Lois groaned. To her, there was no such thing as just one option. There was always at least two. It was just a matter of choosing which one was bad and which one was better.

"Of course." General Lane nodded, recomposing himself very quickly. "Lois, you are confined to this room until further notice. There's a washroom over there if you need it. I imagine you'll find some chips under the wet bar, if you're hungry. And do try and get some sleep. We'll need you bright and alert by morning."

"I'm twenty-four, not four." Lois groused.

General Lane said nothing, as was his custom when people tried to argue with him, but Lois already succeeded at riling him up. She had always been able to push his buttons, most of the time unintentionally. He had always treated Lois like she was one of his soldiers, despite that fact that she was most assuredly a civilian who just happened to live on a military base. Sometimes, she deliberately mashed his buttons just to watch him react. To see if there was any chink in his armor that she could exploit. General Lane was very good at holding his temper outwardly, but inside, he had to be boiling.

But he still said nothing. He turned on his heel in a perfectly executed about-face, clicked his heels together, and literally marched off like he was on the parade grounds. Sofia patted Lois's shoulder heavily in what almost passed for a gesture of solidarity or comfort as though they shared common ground on the subject of upset family dynamics. But the small, satisfied smile on the mafia queen's face, the one Lois caught a glimpse of when the woman passed, said that she was more amused than sympathetic.

The door swung shut behind Sofia's departure and the click of the lock followed immediately after. Lois stared at the closed door for a moment, unable to believe they were actually treating her like an errant, misbehaving child instead of a grown woman who knew perfectly well what she didn't want to do.

And her father especially. She had thought he was a little more respectful of adult autonomy.

"Oh who the fuck am I trying to kid?" Lois asked herself rhetorically. She threw her hands up in exasperation and fell back on the couch. She tossed her coat onto the other couch, then grabbed the afghan from the back and burrowed under it. If she was going to be locked in here for the next several hours, then she might as well try and get in some sleep.

Perry would want her bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning when she dropped the story in his lap.

* * *

-0-

The chapter title is a variation of "Stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea". I would have used that one, but I plopped Metropolis on the shores of Lake Superior so it didn't really work.


	22. The Man in the Cape

Aaaand cue theme music.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Man in the Cape

Steve woke up abruptly from the familiar dream about a white-sand, semi-tropical island where he was surrounded by beautiful woman. He had been having that dream a lot lately. He was starting to take it as a sign that he needed a vacation.

Through the muzziness of sleep that still clung to him a lot like Colletta was currently, it took him another moment to realize that he didn't remember actually falling asleep and maybe he'd been drugged?... And then he was quite suddenly wide awake.

His eyes bounced around the small, cell-like room they had been stashed in, noting the boarded up windows and the heavy-looking door on opposite walls. The only furnishings were the foam-padded benches bolted into the other two walls. Steve was sitting on one with Colletta all but wrapped around him like an octopus, arms around his waist and drooling gently into his shoulder. On the other one was Detective Jim Gordon. His coat had been drawn over his head to block out the light above the door, so Steve couldn't tell if he was awake or asleep.

"Gordon?" he ventured.

"Yeah?" the detective answered without any hint of grogginess.

"When did I fall asleep?" Steve asked, starting to hope that they hadn't been drugged after all.

"Almost as soon as you sat down. You were out like a light." the detective replied, pushing the coat down from his head. "Then Officer Kanigher just..." He made a gesture as though he didn't know how to finish the statement.

"Cuddled?" Steve finished, glancing down at the woman with the strangest hint of amusement. The feeling of boobs on his chest hadn't been an imagined part of the dream. "I should wake her up. She's drooling on me."

He jostled her shoulders and Colletta came to with a snort, her head jerking off of his chest, a filmy string of spit stretching between her mouth and the wet spot on Steve's coat.

"Erg, sorry 'bout that." she mumbled, scrubbing at the wet spot on her cheek as she moved off of the former sergeant. "Anyone know the time?" she asked through a yawn.

"Can't be certain, but I'd say it's about seven in the morning." Gordon estimated. He was very good at keeping track of time in his head and he suspected that not much more than three hours had passed.

"Ugh, my room-mate's probably called my work asking where I am." Colletta realized, trying to wipe the sleep out of her eyes. She had probably only gotten about six hours of sleep in the last twenty-four. "Chances are real good that Maggie knows by now I'm sort of mostly missing."

"Well, no one's come by since they put us in here and it doesn't seem like they're planning to kill us _just yet_. Frankly, I'd like to get out of here before they make up their minds on that." Gordon said, shrugging. "I don't think we should wait on our colleagues to act. So I say we go find Lois and run for it."

"Taking the initiative. Solid plan." Steve said, getting to his feet. He went over to the door and started drumming on it with his knuckles. "Hey out there! I've got a bone to pick with you about your sanitary facilities!"

Or rather the lack thereof, as the cell hadn't been outfitted with with a toilet or anything that could have been used as toilet. Steve sincerely hoped that they weren't expected to pick a corner.

Catching wind of his plan, Colletta and Gordon joined him over by the door. As they did, an eye-level panel on the other side of the door was flipped open, revealing a pair of eyes that belonged to a guard.

"What?" he snapped in the voice of someone who hadn't gotten enough sleep for his liking and didn't actually want to be here. Indeed, the bags under his eyes were large enough to carry a week's worth of groceries.

"You seem like a busy fellow, but there's a problem. We have to pee and there's no toilet in here." Steve said. "What are your policies on the bowel and bladder movements of your prisoners? Somehow, I just don't think any of you want to go around scrubbing out every single cell in this place. There isn't even a hole in the floor."

"We'll take a bucket, as long as it's one of those several gallon ones that isn't going to overflow." Gordon said.

"And bring toilet paper!" Colletta added, standing on her toes to peer over the former sergeant's shoulder.

The guard sighed in a long-suffering way. "I'll go get you a bucket." he said. Then the panel flipped closed and he slouched off.

Steve waited a moment until he was sure the man was out of ear-shot and said: "So we're just going to break his face when he opens the door again."

Gordon nodded. "I can work with that plan."

"Solid plan." Colletta agreed.

They took up positions around the door and quickly agreed that Colletta would be responsible for the actual face-breaking part. Pound for pound, she was probably the most viciously efficient. You didn't get to be a third kyu green belt ranked on a professional level at her age without being profoundly skilled.

The guard would have to open the door a certain distance just to get the bucket inside, regardless of whether he slid it across the floor or handed it to them. He was also clearly a tired man and therefore, not likely to react as quickly to an attack. Casual sexism was likely to work in their favor, as he would probably be expecting more a fight from either of the men. Colletta being the one to jump him would bring the element of surprise to the table.

So she hid in the blind spot beside the entry and waited.

The guard returned moments later and flipped the panel open again. He eyeballed Steve and Gordon for a moment.

"Stand back from the door." he instructed.

They shuffled away.

It went down exactly like they had anticipated it would. The guard unlocked the door and pushed it open, scooting the bucket across the floor. He had kept one hand on the doorknob, apparently thinking that would prevent them from trying to take advantage of the situation. But Colletta leapt forward like an uncoiling spring, lunging into the widening gap. She had enough room to thrust an arm through and grab the guard by the front of his shirt and then yanked him forward.

There was a delightful hollow coconut sound when his forehead impacted with the door.

Gordon and Steve only acted then. They shoved the door open all the way and hauled the dazed guard into the cell. Steve relieved the man of his gun, then the two police officers threw the hired guard into the foam-padded bench, pinning him down at the arms and legs.

"Don't shout." Gordon instructed, covering the guard's mouth. "Shouting isn't going to help you."

Steve made a point to put the gun barrel close to the man's head to help encourage silence.

"We're going to ask you at least two questions. I want to answer both of them truthfully. For every lie you speak, I'll break a finger." Gordon warned. He grinned a little savagely, the one he knew never failed to make a crook quiver. "After that, I'll move on to the metacarpals. There are five of those in each hand too. So you'll have some breathing room before I get up to the carpals. Those are in your wrist."

He really didn't need to paint the full picture, but every word made the hapless guard look a little more worried for his hands and he nodded vigorously in general agreement.

"And if you shout, I'm dislocating your shoulder first thing." Gordon added. "Is that understood?"

"Mm-hmm." the guard grunted fearfully.

"That's what I thought..."

He lifted his hand and true to his word, the guard only gasped in a fresh breath of air instead of bellowing out a shout for help.

"First question. Where is Lois Lane?" Gordon demanded, pointedly gripping a pinky finger. "She's a caucasian woman with black hair, dark eyes, about five-foot-eight or so, twenty-four years old. Reporter with the _Daily Planet_ and a former member of the Suicide Kings. We know she was taken to a different room in another part of the building, accompanied by Sofia Gigante and another man named Duncan. Do you know where that room is, or do you know someone who does know?"

"Um... th-the second one." the guard said, though he sounded quite uncertain of his own reply. He was eyeing the captured finger nervously. "Look, I been on shift all night. I-If your reporter woman is important enough to get a private audience with Mrs. Gigante, then she's probably bein' held on the north side of the building, but I ain't been out that way."

"Do you know anyone who works in that area?" Gordon pressed, applying some pressure to the finger.

"Brian, I think. I dunno if he's workin' tonight, though." the guard admitted.

"Let's find out." the detective suggested.

"And where's an actual bathroom?" Colletta asked. It was enough of a non-sequiter that the only way to react was to spare her an absurd glance. "Don't look at me like that, guys. I actually have to pee."

With a gun at his head, a garrote wire at his throat (Gordon had literally pulled it out of the waistband of his pants), and the knowledge that they could and would take him down a second time easily, the guard was really very cooperative. He didn't complain or try to raise an alarm and when he did speak, it was mostly to lament about how he didn't take that intern position way back when he'd gotten out of high school.

It wasn't until they hit the checkpoint that there was actually something vaguely resembling a problem.

The checkpoint was a wall of chain-link fence from ceiling to floor, the gate locked. Beside it were three guards who likewise looked like they had had a very long and immensely boring night, judging from the scattered detritus of snack wrappers and water bottles. Even when they spotted the captured guard leading the way down the hall with Gordon snarling over his shoulder, the checkpoint guards were still not very quick to react. Sure, they threw down their cards, got to their feet, and drew their side-arms, but there was a noticeable sluggish-ness about the way they did it.

"Guns down unless you want to see the anatomy of someone's neck!" Gordon threatened and the garrote wire made an ominous _*shing!*_ noise. "I'm not actually very good at using this, so it's going to be pretty messy and gross!"

"Oh my god! Don't kill me like that!" the captured guard wailed, shivering.

"If you don't want to see something really awful that'll haunt your nightmares for the next few weeks, I highly advise that you unlock that gate for us and don't get any ideas about pulling the fire alarm or something similar." Gordon suggested. "I'm not in the mood for anyone to get cute."

"Also, he has a gun and I can kickbox your head off." Colletta added, gesturing to herself and Steve. "The other thing we suggest you do is put those nice semi-automatics on the ground and kick them over here."

The checkpoint guards hesitated, glancing uneasily at each other.

"Just do it! I'm startin' to think this guy's a little fucking crazy!" the captured guard shouted. After all, he had just been frog-marched down the hall with a garrote wire wrapped around his neck, held by someone who was not skilled enough to make it quick and clean.

It was one thing to be threatened by an efficient killer, but another to be threatened by someone was just incompetent enough to really make it hurt.

"Are you sure?" the apparent leader of the checkpoint guards asked.

"Fuck yeah, I'm sure! Do what they're asking! These guys mean business!"

The checkpoint guards glanced uncertainly at each other and then the leader raised his hands, showing that his finger was off the trigger of the gun, before setting it gently on the ground. His comrades followed suit.

"And kick them over. Now." Steve instructed, jerking the appropriated rifle a little.

The guards did, albeit gently. The guns (hefty-looking things somewhere in the line of the Luger) skidded noisily across the tiled floor until they were close enough for Colletta to scoop up. She placed one in the empty holster under her arm and held the other two with enough confidence that it didn't leave much room for doubt that she was used to duel-wielding.

"And now the gate, gentlemen." Gordon said.

The checkpoint leader nodded and turned so they could see the set of keys on the back of his belt. He unhooked them and, trying not to move too suddenly, went to unlock the gate.

"H-Hey, is Brian on shift? Y'know, the Brian who always cuts himself shaving and still eats those gross Lunchables?" the captured guard asked.

"Naw, I think he took some vacation time." one of the guards replied. "Why?"

"Uh, there's someone important lady up on the other side of the building and these guys aren't gonna leave without her."

"Ah, that _Daily Planet_ reporter? I know where she is; I was taking my break when they brought her up."

"Good." Gordon interrupted, making them jump like children whose hands had been in the cookie jar. "Then you can show us where she is."

While the captured guard nodded as vigorously as he could with the wire around his neck, the other one looked at his leader for permission or confirmation. The checkpoint leader nodded as he pushed the gate open.

"You know the rules." he said.

"Right." the guard nodded, as trying to convince himself. "This way, I guess..."

"Walk slow." the detective instructed.

They clearly made an odd sight walking down the hall, but the apparent rule was about not fighting with any prisoners that decided to capture the guards and make a break for it. It wasn't an unfamiliar rule, not for Colletta and Gordon. It was standard in most prisons and generally acknowledged that if you were dumb enough to let the prisoners get a hold of you, there wasn't much the other guards could do.

The hallway gradually got nicer and better lit. Then they went around a corner and the decor went from dim and prison-like to something that more closely resembled a moderately-priced hotel.

This place was both Sofia Gigante's personal prison and where she conducted her day to day business.

 _Oh my god, I'm right in the heart of this woman's operations._ Gordon realized, swallowing down some excitement as it really sunk in where he was. Not only had he finally laid eyes on the woman for more than ten seconds, he could do some major damage if he could just get five minutes on her private server.

 _No, no, we're just here to get Miss Lane and get out. But now that I know where to find it, I'll be back._

The checkpoint guard led them to a nondescript wooden door halfway down the hall and gestured nervously to it.

"Um, I think she'd be in there. Mrs. Gigante uses it as a meeting room, but it's probably locked..." He trailed off as Colletta pushed him aside with a "No problem." With a grunt, she kicked the door open in one blow.

Inside, Lois had been fast asleep, only to be rudely awakened by the enormous cracking sound of the deadbolts giving way. She shot up off the couch, blindly grabbing for anything that could have served as a weapon. She found nothing, but at least it proved to be unnecessary as Colletta strolled in with a gun in each hand (Steve, Gordon, and two guards were visible behind her).

"Lois! We've come to rescue you!" she announced.

"My hero." Lois said dryly, picking up her coat.

"Nice digs they stuck you in." Colletta commented, looking around the lounge and frowning a little at the large window. "What did they want?"

"I'll tell you later when we're out of here." the reporter replied, swinging her coat over her shoulders as she joined them in the hallway. Then she whirled on the checkpoint guard with an expression like she wanted to jam a pen in his throat. "Where is the quickest way out of here that won't send us through the garage?"

"Uh- _-_ Th-The lobby. The front lobby, downstairs." the guard answered.

"Good answer." Lois said. Then she grabbed him by the shoulders and heaved him into the room she had just vacated. Gordon unwrapped the garrote wire from the other guard's neck and pushed him into the room as well. He shut the door and looked at Lois.

"You alright?" he asked.

"My coat dried out while I was asleep." she commented, noticing a distinct lack of dampness. "I'm fine. They didn't touch me. Give me one of those." She made grabby hands at one of the guns that Colletta was holding. The younger police officer obligingly handed one over.

"Same here." Gordon said. He got the one from the holster.

"All right, let's get out here." Steve said.

"Stairs are over here. I remember passing the lobby on the way up." Lois said, leading them down the hall. "We're in Oxbay up in West River, so when we get out of here, it's up to Colletta to decide where we go."

"Damn, practically right in my old backyard." the officer muttered.

"We should contact the SCU as soon as we can." Gordon added.

"Ooh, change your mind?" Colletta inquired cheerfully.

"I'm literally standing inside one of Gigante's base of operations - _-_ probably her primary base - _-_ staring down the opportunity to destroy her and having to turn away. Two years and this is closer than I ever expected to get." the detective admitted. "No, it's not a promise!" he added sternly in response to Colletta's smug little grin. "But the SCU isn't bound by nearly as many regulations as Major Crimes. They'll be able to react faster."

"Well, I have a WayneTech phone. They're pretty much indestructible. I think they took design tips from Nintendo." the younger officer commented.

"It'll still have to wait. This place is designed to block cell signals." Lois reminded them. "Hurry up, we're almost out."

They reached the staircase. It had enough space around it that they could see about halfway down the lobby from the top step and as they went down, it became increasingly likely that they would get out without running into any unwanted company. It wasn't a clean lobby; it looked like they were in the middle of house-keeping. There were office desks and chairs and empty filing cabinets and the odd fire extinguisher bunched into the middle of the floor.

 _Okay, so we get out, contact the police, and... I'm definitely going straight to the_ Planet _and pitching the story to Perry._ Lois decided. _General Dad is trying to get up to something and Sofia's involved and the sooner this gets out to the public, the better. Nothing like a little public uproar to make a person second-guess their plans!_

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw it. Or rather, them. Sofia, accompanied by the same henches from the night at the docks a few weeks ago, emerging from a doorway on the right side of the lobby. Dr. Essex was distinct among them, as were several additional men in military camouflage.

 _Ah shit._

With things piled up in the middle of the floor, there was only so much room to move through and they had come off the stairs on the wrong side of the pile. Sofia and her henches stepped into their path, forcing them to a halt. Behind Lois, Colletta let out a soft growl, Steve hefted the rifle up to his shoulder in preparation to fire, and Gordon made a thoughtful noise.

"Miss Lane, I assume this means you have rejected my offer?" Sofia asked politely.

"Conflicts with my morals." Lois replied.

Then she grabbed the fire extinguisher and _heaved_ it at the mob henches.

In the blink of an eye, Dr. Essex snatched it out of the air. It was a sizable one, weighing about nine to twelve pounds. He held it up as though making sure they could see it... And then he _crushed_ it between his bare hands.

Fire extinguishers were tough, especially the older ones like that one. They were practically designed to act as emergency door bludgeons and window breakers, so they could take something of a beating.

But this man had crushed it like a goddamn aluminum can.

"Your heads may be next." he said, once he had finished balling the metal. He dropped it to the floor in front of their astonished eyes. Lois had already witnessed a display of his strength back at the Hell's Gate docks.

But there was a difference between barging through six inches of concrete and crumpling a fire extinguisher with bare hands and it really showcased just how inhumanly strong the man was.

"Who wants to try me?" Dr. Essex asked tauntingly, waving his hands in a _come at me_ gesture. Behind him, Sofia wore a cat-like expression of satisfaction.

"Ahh... I'm down with trying to get out through the garage." Gordon commented. Anything was the better option if it meant not having to deal with this (presumably) metahuman.

"I invite you to try." Sofia said grandly. "But as was demonstrated, my friend here is far from typical..."

And it was possible that she continued on to expound exactly what Dr. Essex was capable of doing to their spines, but Lois stopped paying attention the instant she noticed the direction of the man's gaze. It was on her.

Dr. Essex's eyes truly were an awful yellow color; the kind you'd slap bio-hazard tape around to try and prevent health problems for the surrounding populace. At the very least, the mere intensity of them oughta have been staining the air the same yellow color.

And there was something intensely creepy about having them stare directly at you. It was sending all sorts of primal warning signs through Lois's brain. The ones telling her to run like holy fuck, though logically, she knew there was a chance she'd never even make it to the foot of the stairs.

Dr. Essex was staring at her not just like he knew who she was, but like he knew exactly where he was going to dispose of her body once he was done killing her. He stared at her like he had it all figured out.

That was when he lunged.

Lois barely saw the movement, because for a second, Dr. Essex was just a blur of color only a little human-shaped. She didn't need to see where he was going because barely after she recognized him as the blur, there were thick arms crushing around her waist, her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs. And then the floor seemed to leap away in a crash of glass. The world spun past her at a dizzying speed that took away breath she still had and she had to close her eyes to stave off the nausea starting to whirl in her stomach.

Cold wind whipped past Lois's face, stinging her skin and causing her eyes to water even though they were squeezed shut. Dr. Essex wasn't running; far too smooth a motion to even have his feet on the ground _and what if they weren't on the ground the man could fly!-_ -

Her eyes snapped open and would have screamed if there had been a substantial breath in her body.

Metropolis was shrinking away, the buildings and streets and cars growing ever smaller the higher Dr. Essex shot into the sky. They had gone well beyond the spire of the highest building, which was the LexCorp tower standing at a little over a thousand feet. The clouds were becoming uncomfortably closer and the air was starting to feel a bit thin.

The ground was a very long way down.

 _He's going to drop me._

 _Oh shit, he's going to drop me, isn't he?!_

 _Oh my god, I've never feared death as much as I do right now!_

It would have been beautiful up here if Lois hadn't been in danger of being killed in a most gruesome manner. The clouds had since broken up, leaving large swathes of pale sky visible. The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon, not yet quite high enough to be spotted. But pillars of yellow-gold light were building on the horizon as the sun inched further and further up, slowly turning the clouds a pale pink.

Really, it was beautiful. But she was probably about to die, so she just didn't have the mindset to appreciate it.

Dr. Essex's flight came to a halt so abrupt Lois was sure she would have vomited down her front if her stomach hadn't gotten lost about a thousand feet below. She wasn't sure how high up they were, but her first proper breath in the last few minutes didn't feel nearly as substantial or sating as she was used to.

She was suddenly spun away from the solid body and crushing arms into open air and she screamed reflexively when she thought for a second that there was nothing supporting her. But there was a vice-clamp on her left wrist. Dr. Essex was holding her out, dangling her over the city with nothing to stop her fall should he drop her.

Lois made the mistake of looking down. She could see the sharp, completely vertical descent to the ground, cars and people so far down they looked like toys, and felt a dizziness that went from her head to her gut and messed up her vision. For a moment, she wondered what it would be like to fall from this height and she knew what that was called.

 _L'appel du vide_.

The call of the void.

The inexplicable urge people felt to jump from a high place when they encountered one.

Instead, she grabbed Dr. Essex's arm with her free hand and hauled herself up like she was doing a pull-up, curling her legs up so they weren't dangling loosely and somehow felt marginally safer.

"All right you steroidal jock-strap! What the hell do you want?" she demanded over the buzz of the wind in her ears. She could have punched herself for calling him that. Why did she have to hit the snark button when her life was very clearly in danger?

"I _knew_ I recognized you!" the geneticist spat. His yellow eyes were sharper and seemed, for a moment, to pierce right through her. "You were at the docks that night with that _abomination_! You're Kal-El's woman!"

"I'm no one's woman!" Lois bellowed, insulted. How dare he assume that she had to belong to someone! And who the ever-loving fuck was this "Kal-El" supposed to be? "What the hell did you bring me up here for?!"

Dr. Essex looked at her like he had just heard a horse-fly speak. Then, with an expression that suggested he was humoring her, he reached behind himself and produced a canvas backpack that she hadn't noticed (y'know, what with the fear of dying). He drew his legs up so he could open the bag and extracted- _something._

It was a glowing blue sphere about seven inches in diameter, glowing a dark blue that waxed and waned every other second. Two metallic, bronze-looking bands criss-crossed it diagonally. Up close, Lois could see the alien runes etched into the metal. Familiarity tickled at the back of her mind, but she wasn't sure where she could have seen it before.

"You might have seen this before." Dr. Essex commented, casually brushing the backpack off his legs. It tumbled down end over end and was quickly lost from sight. "If not, then I will tell you. This is a historic moment for Planet Earth and one of you maggots should stand witness."

"You talk like you're not human." Lois spat, scowling at the 'maggot' comment.

The geneticist smiled. "As if I would ever consider myself a member of your appalling excuse for intelligent civilization." he confirmed. He held up the sphere. "This is the key to your planet's salvation. It will open a doorway to another dimension and free my comrades who are trapped there. My general will turn this planet into the heart of a grand empire.

"Unfortunately, it is biometrically locked to the House of El. Kal-El is the only one who can activate it. I've needed something of _value_ to trade for his cooperation." He sneered at Lois. "Your life seems to have some value to him. Let's see how much."

"That's nice, what the hell are you talking about?!" Lois demanded. She tried to effect careless bravado, like it didn't matter one way or another how this ended, but her voice betrayed her with a small tremor.

But in the fashion of a self-aware villain, Dr. Essex was not about to explain exactly what he was banging on about. Moreover, she had the feeling that she was expected to already know.

"KAL-EL!" Dr. Essex roared into the wind, facing every cardinal direction as he shouted. "Kal-El, come and face me! I have your woman! Face me if you want to save her! Face me straight-backed and proud like your parents would have wanted! Face me with all the honor of the House of El! Come on, Kal-El! What are you waiting for?!"

"First of all!" Lois started clawing at the man's arm ineffectually. "I am not _anybody_ 's woman! And second of all! What in the name of Nellie Bly are you hoping to accomplish with this?! This is the goddamned real world- _-_ Aaaugh!"

Dr. Essex had squeezed his hand and the reporter felt the bones of her wrist grind together painfully.

"Save your breath. I'm sure you've noticed by now that the air is a little thin up here for you humans." the geneticist warned.

Lois was starting to feel a little light-headed, but that also might have been attributed to the shooting pains now coming out of her wrist. If he hadn't sprained the joint, then he had at least fractured several of the bones in there. She shot the man a death glare, which was ignored.

"Where are you, Kal-El?! I'm getting impatient over here!" Dr. Essex resumed bellowing into the wind. "Or are you truly that much of a coward?! The House of El would be ashamed to know that their noble legacy will end with such a spineless caitiff!"

"And you're the one ransoming me." Lois growled through gritted teeth.

There was a buzz in her ears now that had nothing to do with the wind and a vague sense that her head could fall off her shoulders if she turned it too fast. She had been up here for at least five minutes now; how long did it take for high-altitude oxygen deprivation to set in?

 _I think I want you to let go of me._ She thought, glaring at the hand squeezing her wrist. _Mostly so you won't break my wrist. What the fuck is that thing out there?_

'That thing' was a flutter of red and a gleam of blue growing larger quite swiftly and for a hypoxia-induced second, Lois thought it was a bird. Except it was way too man-shaped to be avian and moving way too fast at that.

The first ray of sun peaked over the horizon and lit up the man in gold tones as he pulled up not ten feet away from Dr. Essex, his eyes blazing in such a fury that Lois was glad none of it was directed at her.

Hot _damn_ he was a _specimen_!

 _Spank my ass and call me 'baby', I'd like to pin him up on a corkboard and study him all night!_ Lois thought giddily. She would remember this thought later (much, much later, like August of next year later) and groan in mortification before chalking it up to the slow oxygen deprivation.

He had gorgeous blue eyes that glittered like a sunlit sky. His hair had been blown about in a messy, yet charming disarray that was offset by a weird little spit-curl. He had a beautiful chiseled bone structure too - _-_ jawlines like smooth mountain ridges, cheekbones like the Great Wall of China, and a strong chin that could have stabbed holes in the plaster. The same square lantern jaw she had only seen in comics.

The suit was primarily a rich, royal blue with crimson along the inner thighs until his waist where a golden belt rested just above his hips and then the crimson swapped to run up either side of his broad chest to his armpits. The crimson cape attached at the shoulders and billowed out behind him like a banner. Splashed across his chest was something Lois could only assume was a coat-of-arms (with all that 'House of El' stuff being bandied about); a red, heavily stylized S set onto a pentagonal gold shield. The same coat-of-arms was rendered again on the belt that sat on his hips, more silvery platinum color than gold.

And boy oh boy, look at that muscle tone! The suit didn't even bother trying to hide it but instead clung to it lovingly. The biceps and the triceps were gorgeous with smooth sloping lines. The quads in his thighs were as thick as tree trunks. He had the calves of a career sprinter and the shoulders of a professional swimmer and all sorts of manly tendons bulging in his neck and an _eight-pack of abs_! Any anatomy student studying human musculature could have named every sculpted formation in his torso and goodness, those pecs...

What she wouldn't give just to put a hand on them.

She didn't recognize him, though. They hadn't met. She would certainly remember a man with such an eye-catching physique.

"Kal-El, so glad you could join us." Dr. Essex said mockingly. "Nice suit. I used to have one like it, in different colors."

"Give her to me. Now." the newcomer ordered in a deep baritone voice that sent a pleasant shiver down Lois's spine. Not even the glaring anger radiating off him could make his voice any less of a rumble of thunder.

"Uh-uh, first you must do something for me." Dr. Essex held out the blue sphere. "I assume you know what to do."

The newcomer - _-_ presumably his name was indeed Kal-El - _-_ hesitated and against everything Lois might have expected him to do, he looked at the reporter as though asking for her help.

"Well don't look at me! I didn't ask to get involved in this!" she snapped.

"She's right, you know." Dr. Essex said tauntingly. "She didn't ask to be brought into this, but your refusal to cooperate has led to this moment. Now are you going to fix this or am I going to have to drop her?"

Lois saw Kal-El's bright blue eyes dart between the out-held sphere and her, dangling by an already damaged wrist, as if calculating his odds of getting them both away from Dr. Essex without risking further damage.

"Decide quickly, son of Jor-El!" Dr. Essex commanded. "We're two miles up and your woman is already feeling the effects of high-altitude oxygen deprivation! Her pulse-rate is up, her lungs are working harder, and she keeps shouting at me! Wasting precious oxygen! How long before your woman loses consciousness?"

"I'm not his woman!" Lois snarled at the same time Kal-El said firmly: "She's not my woman."

 _Good to know we're on the same page._ The reporter added in her head.

"Do I drop her?" Dr. Essex pressed. For the briefest of seconds, Lois felt the fingers loosen just enough to make her slip. She yelped, grabbing onto the muscular arm with her free hand.

"No!" Kal-El shouted, momentary fear flashing across his face. He recomposed himself quickly and held out his hand, glancing at Lois when he did. "Give me the projector."

The geneticist nodded approvingly. "You'll make your father proud yet, boy." he said.

He chucked the sphere over in an underhand toss. Kal-El caught it with a mild scowl on his face, like the last thing he wanted to do was to be complimented in any fashion by a man who definitely had something against him and his family.

He turned the sphere over his hands, staring at it contemplatively for a moment. Lois wanted to shout _'Don't do it!'_ , if only because she had no idea what was going to happen were that thing to activate. But even she had to acknowledge that there was really only one good option here that ensured her survival and that was to do what Dr. Essex wanted so that he would hand her over.

Kal-El tapped out a sequence of runes on the bands, at least seven of them as far as Lois counted. When the last one was touched, the waxing/waning blue glow paused and then began to strengthen in brilliance. Kal-El let go of the sphere and it stayed right where it was in the air while he moved back away from it.

The blue light inside the sphere began to swirl and it expanded outwards until it touched the very edge. Then the metal bands began to lift off the sphere. They lengthened as they did, so they never lost their shape. They simply grew out like planetary rings, containing the brilliant blue glow that was now cracking and sparking with electricity. The bolts, however, jumped beyond the boundary of the rings, striking at the air and upwards into the sky. It was practically a lightning storm forming around the thing- the projector, wasn't it called that?

A sudden darkness fell over the city of Metropolis, in spite of the rising sun to the east and there being no actual obstruction to prevent light from reaching it. But all the same, the city was suddenly cast into a strange, otherworldly dimness.

"Here we go! Here we go!" Dr. Essex crowed, a horrible example of ecstasy on his face.

The doorway- _-_ if the projector was a key, then this was certainly a doorway - _-_ was over ten feet across and still expanding. The blue light inside was spinning so fast it no longer looked like it was moving. The lightning burst out fiercely from the confines of the metal rings, branching into jagged Lichtenburg patterns that left behind a strong smell of sulfur and ozone. Clouds (or perhaps smoke?) were forming over the top of the doorway and looking quite a bit like a super-cell. Lois half-expected it to start raining, just to complete the image of a mad scientist's whacky experimentations.

Through the wind throwing her hair in her face, the flashing lightning, and the growing umbrella of clouds that must have been the cause of the dimness, Lois found the form of Kal-El, floating untouched just outside the worst of the chaos. He was staring at the widening doorway in shock, as though he himself had had no idea what had been about to happen either.

Then, they caught each other's eyes. _It'll be okay. I'll figure this out_ , his expression seemed to say.

 ***BOOOOM!***

The almost-not-quite explosion shook everything down to the molecules of air. Lois scrunched up reflexively, trying to cover her ears even though the reverberation shook her down to the marrow. The expanding doorway had leapt open even further, spreading from twenty feet to over seventy in just the blink of an eye and growing two feet larger every couple of seconds. The cloud cover overhead had nearly surpassed a hundred feet in diameter and portal rings were about to surpass it. The lightning cracked from cloud bank to cloud bank, spiking down into the air below above. In the center of the blinding blue light was a perfectly circle that had unusual depth and dimensionality. It looked like it should have been flat to the eye, but it wasn't.

"Behold the end of your history and the beginning of my new future!" Dr. Essex cried. "The end of your planet and the renewal of mine! My people will rebuild on the bones of yours!"

He grinned savagely at Lois, his expression so feral and primal that, for a second, the reporter thought he was literally going to bite her head off. But he did something worse than that.

He opened his hand and she fell.

* * *

-0-


	23. A Service to the People

All reviews are amazing! Superman's suit design was inspired by a piece of art by Harseik on deviantart. I liked the aesthetics of the Man of Steel suit and I wanted to keep the red, but not the panties. Little history fact: Supes's original design from the 30s was based off of wrestlers who wore super-sheer tights that had a habit of splitting along the seams when they flexed too hard, so the hot-pants were added to preserve modesty. The red panties are a classic, but for a modern setting, they're kind of outdated.

Also, I'm about 2/3rds of the way through Story 3. I'm estimating a rough sum of 15 more chapters before it's completed.

Updating a week early because I have a boss battle to write and fight scenes are the devil. Weekly updates begin Sept. 2nd!

(quick question. I'm considering creating a deviantart page just for dumping headcanons/background information on the 'verse. Anyone interested in that?)

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Three: A Service to the People

The first instant when Dr. Essex let go of her hand was surreal, like a dream that she was going to wake up from before she hit the ground. It didn't feel so much like falling as it felt like sinking. It was just happening at a faster rate.

It took a second for Lois to recall that this was no dream - _-_ that good old fashioned denial quick to work. But then it hit her, hard and fast like a brick. She was falling from two miles up and there was nothing between her and the ground but a very, very long drop.

Lois had never appreciated just how very _solid_ the ground had looked until now. A distinct, feral sort of panic gripped her; the kind that made you want to empty your bowels and scream hysterically because it was all you could do. Her hands flailed uselessly for something to hang on to, but there was nothing. Nothing to grab on to and she didn't even scream.

The only plus side was that she might not be conscious when she finally hit the ground. Perhaps her blood pressure would bottom out and every last drop would rush out of her brain, leaving her as limp and unresponsive as a rag doll. Maybe she would be dead to the world before she was actually dead.

Not much of a plus, admittedly, but as long as she didn't have to feel it.

"Hang on! I've got you! Don't worry!"

Kal-El had swooped in, practically on top of her by the time she actually looked. So close she could touch his face and see if his cheekbones were really as sculpted as they looked.

 _Hello tall, dark, and handsome, what cloud in heaven did you fall off of?_ Lois found herself wondering.

Then his arms were around her, strong and firm, holding her close to an incredibly muscular body and with her every nerve alive from adrenaline, her fingers could trace the muscle fibers clenching under her hands. There was a sudden sense of _gravity_ , but in the reassuring sense that kept both your feet on the ground. She was no longer falling. Kal-El had her and they were flying now.

And that hit her like another brick.

They were _flying_.

Lois screamed.

" _Me_?! You've got _me_?! Who's got you?! Who are you?!" she shrieked, reflexively trying to push away from him.

Then she looked _down_. Down at Metropolis still sprawled out below them. They all but hung suspended above it. Lois's next scream was one of surprise and she seized Kal-El a little tighter.

"Oh my god, you _are_ flying! You're actually flying! Like actually flying!" she gibbered, practically trying to crawl onto his shoulders, as far away from the ground as she could get. Her hands fisted into his cape and she stared down his back at the city streets that were just way too far down there.

"Yes, I'm actually flying." Kal-El assured her, sounding amused. He had a velvety voice and it rumbled nicely all the way up her ribcage. "Just hang on, okay? It'll be easier to set you down if you're not wiggling."

They were shedding altitude now. Lois's ears popped and her wrist throbbed even more, but it was comforting to see the topmost spires of the city growing larger and knowing that she wasn't going to leave a bloody smear on one of them on her way down.

Flight.

"Oh my god..." Lois squeaked, a little too close to a whimper for her liking. She was over a thousand feet up and she had almost plunged to her death, but now she was in the arms of a man who could fly.

Kal-El looked down at her with a concerned expression. "Are you all right... It's Lois Lane, isn't it?" he asked.

"You know my name." Lois stated.

"Yes, I do." Kal-El said, flashing a twinkling smile. Lois felt her knees go mushy. That smile should have been on a toothpaste ad. He could make good money doing toothpaste ads. "Are you all right, Ms. Lane?"

Lois opened her mouth to reply when déjà vu washed over her and a prickle of familiarity followed. She peered a little harder at Kal-El, wondering if she really had seen him before, since Dr. Essex seemed to think they were previously acquainted. She definitely would have remembered those eyes; the bright blue of a cloudless summer sky. His voice sounded like generic Midwest, but that "Ms. Lane" had sounded a bit familiar. The way it had dipped and twanged, curling around the syllables with all the laziness of a creeping vine.

"Miss Lane?" Kal-El asked again, his brow drawing down to the bridge of his nose.

"O-Oh! I'm fine..." Lois squeaked, shaking away the sense of recognition. She had never seen him before, right? No, she hadn't. Not quite like this, at least. "Th-Thank you?"

"You're welcome." Kal-El nodded and there was that toothpaste ad smile again. "I hope this won't put you off flying. Statistically speaking, it's still the safest way to travel."

There was just no responding to that. Not while there was a gigantic whirling portal opening above them. Not after he had just plucked her away from death. This was not a situation where he got to make funny jokes.

"Don't talk. Just don't talk." Lois told him. "It's cold up here and I'd like for you to put me down on something solid. With a staircase. Please." she added, just so she didn't sound totally ungrateful for being saved.

"Not a problem, Miss Lane." Kal-El said.

Then he angled their descent towards the helicopter pad on the roof of the LexCorp building. Lois tried to put some dignity in her clinging - _-_ there was little doubt Lex Luthor himself was plastered to one of his windows even this early in the morning, watching the spectacle.

She wondered what the business mogul would think of it.

No, forget Luthor. What about the nation? What was the rest of the nation going to think?

 ***BRRRNNNNN!***

The sound was foghorn-like in its intensity, but something Lois felt more rattling in her bones and humming in her teeth, and accompanied by a visible pulse of energy that originated from the very center of the portal.

A visible, tangible pulse of energy. Lois's teeth hadn't stopped humming before Kal-El suddenly dragged her off his shoulders and against his chest when that pulse slammed into them, like swatting a fly out of midair.

And suddenly their flight turned into a plummet.

That sense of gravity - _-_ that there was something to push off of was gone. Tucked securely though she was against the flying man's chest, underneath his incredibly strong arms, Lois felt cold fear washing through her veins.

"Fly! Fly! _Fly goddammit_!" she shrieked, which were a series of words she hadn't imagined herself screaming outside of a fuselage.

Kal-El grunted, his face strained like he was trying to pass a kidney stone and there was a sudden _pull_ of gravity but it only came out as a split-second burst that turned their fall into a tailspin. The world spun wildly in response, earth and sky and portal and Metropolis blurring into nearly indistinguishable smears. They were still angled towards the LexCorp building and when Lois happened to catch glimpses of it, the helicopter pad was beginning to look very solid.

One of them wasn't going to get out of this alive.

 _My near-death experiences aren't supposed to happen on Tuesdays..._ Lois thought vaguely, squeezing her eyes shut so she didn't have to see the final collision.

Gravity _pulled_ on her again and the tailspin stopped as abruptly as it had begun, leaving Lois gasping and nauseous in the pit of her stomach but she had no time to recover. Kal-El's cape swept up over her and his legs doubled up to his chest. Or rather, around her since she was already in the way. And then he flipped over so his back to Metropolis.

"Keep your head down!" he ordered. His grip changed, hands moving to her shoulders and her hips rather than directly around her chest, and his shoulders hunched protectively.

Lois was about to ask why- _-_

Concrete rebar and steel crunched and crumbled, and the reporter felt the impact like she was standing on the other side of a brick wall. It still jarred her from head to toe and set her wrist throbbing, but it wasn't any worse than that. There was nothing to see with the cape covering her, but Lois had the funny feeling they had just had gone through part of the LexCorp tower.

Only part, because they were still falling.

 _Eat a dick, Luthor._ Lois thought, grinning at the thought of a giant hole in the monument to the businessman's ego.

Hole in Luthor's ego or not, they were still falling.

The portal went ***BRRRNNNNN!*** again, the pulse of energy shattering the glass windows of the top few floors of the nearby skyscrapers. Lois still felt the rattle in her bones through the cape and limbs bundled around her, but they were outside the zone of immediate effect. The shockwave didn't swat them down.

All the same, they were still falling.

"Get a hold of yourself and fly!" she shrieked at Kal-El, where she could see his face.

"I'm working on it!" he half-shouted back, his face still strained, his voice still something of a grunt.

"Work harder!"

Surely flying couldn't be **that** hard. It wasn't like he had _wings_ or other required appendages. From her perspective, it felt like he generated his own gravitational field.

(Honestly though, it was harder than Lois imagined. Clark hadn't always been able to fly; it had taken time to develop. The potential had always been there, but it hadn't until this past year that Clark had been able to put himself in the air and keep himself there without thinking too hard about it. People just didn't step into the air and fly with a thought. He might have had some kind of organic gravimetric generator as part of his spine, but that didn't necessarily mean he fully understood how it worked. He was a bipedal creature who had no business leaving the ground.)

"Brace yourself." was all Kal-El said in return, looking a little grave.

Lois ducked her head down.

Glass shattered and people screamed and they hit something that could have been a floor but it cracked and cracked and _broke_ and then they fell straight down rather than sideways. There was a yank-pull of gravity and then Kal-El smacked shoulders-first into something that didn't break under him and bounced a few more times before actually sliding to a halt on his side. Lois's teeth clacked together each time, her head rattling, but otherwise safe and unharmed (except for her wrist, that was throbbing like a broken little bitch).

"Ow..." Kal-El grunted.

Lois's ears rung without the wind whistling in them, but it had been replaced by the worried noises of people. They had landed in an office building, no doubt. Over the Central Business District, there was nothing but office buildings around.

The reporter uncurled from Kal-El's chest and he loosened his grip the second he felt her trying to fight her way clear of the cape. Lois all but tumbled out onto the carpet, noting just the hole in the ceiling and the floor which now featured the dents where Kal-El had bounced.

 _How durable do you have to be to leave dents?_ She wondered, feeling vaguely like her head was about to slide off her shoulders.

Then she stood up and actually looked around for real. It was an office building but at seven-thirty-ish in the morning, just a sparsely populated one. It was the early bird employees peering cautiously over their desks with wide frightened eyes.

"It's okay, people. Just a little- _-_ disaster..." Lois said, but the reassurance fell rather flat. It was starting to look a bit like the end of the world out there and they probably didn't have a very good view of what was going on.

"Look, I don't actually know what's going on up there, but it looks bad so you might want to head for the ground floor. Practice your fire escape routine." the reporter suggested, making shooing motions with her good hand.

No one moved. They weren't staring at her, but their eyes were riveted on the man getting to his feet behind her. Kal-El rose up like a feather in an updraft more than actually used his limbs. It was a graceful, almost dancer-like movement that reminded Lois that this man might not have been a man at all.

" _You talk like you're not human."_ Lois had said to Dr. Essex and he had replied: _"As if I would ever consider myself a member of your appalling excuse for intelligent civilization."_

He had practically said it right there, hadn't he.

Dr. Essex was not a human being.

And if Kal-El really ran in the same circles, then he wasn't human either.

"You heard her." Kal-El said, coming up to stand right behind Lois, so close she could feel the heat radiating off his chest and that made her intensely aware of just how

close he actually was. "Get to safety."

The businessmen and women stared expectantly as if they were still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Then someone clapped their hands loudly and everyone flinched.

"Okay people, you heard them!" shouted one of the men, his little brass name-plate suggesting a management position. "We need to get out of here right now! Let's go, let's go! Treat this like a fire drill! We're going down the stairs! C'mon, let's hustle hustle hustle!"

With his encouragement, the employees started abandoning their desks and making for the elevator lobby, some of them still glancing over their shoulders fearfully.

"Miss Lane, go with them." Kal-El said.

"What?" Lois whirled around to face him. "Do you even know what my job is? You're not leaving without me!"

"Yes I am. Your job is not an excuse to go walking into danger zones and I'm not voluntarily taking you in there." Kal-El said, looking disappointed, like he had expected better of her. "That portal could tear the city apart if it gets any bigger."

"Where does it lead?" Lois asked, unable to stop her curiosity.

"To a prison dimension. Dr. Essex is trying to free his commanding officer and if I don't stop him now, the Earth will be in great danger." Kal-El said. His voice and his expression were both solemn. Brought up to date on what General Zod had tried to do to Krypton, he knew what was at stake.

" _You_ have to stop him?" Lois repeated incredulously, even though she understood what he was saying. The army would take too long to mobilize. Too long to confirm the intensity of the threat level. Too long to secure permission. Too long to scramble the Warthogs. Too long to get the choppers in the air.

God only knew what was going to come out of that portal when it opened to its full dilation, but she had no doubt that anything coming out of a prison dimension wasn't going to be friendly.

But nonetheless...

"Are you sure that's something you can fight?" Lois asked, pointing up towards the sky. She looked him up and down. "Do you even know how to fight that?"

Kal-El smiled that twinkling smile again. "I'll improvise."

"Improvise?!" the reporter repeated. Oh, that did not sound reassuring. "What are you trying to be, crazy?! You can't go in there with a quarter-assed plan and expect to win! That's what gets wanna-be heroes like you _killed_! You're the man who just saved my life so I'm feeling a little fond of you at the moment and I _do not_ want to see you get _killed_!"

"I don't have a choice. I'm the only one who can do it." Kal-El said. He held eye contact for the most part, but still shot a nervous look towards the windows. Maybe waiting for the sky to darken to apocalyptic levels.

"That's what idiot heroes say! You're not a hero! You're just a flying idiot in a cape!" Lois snapped. She wasn't sure why she wanted to be so angry with him. Maybe she did know him after all and it just hadn't clicked yet and even when she didn't recognize him, she still didn't want him risking his life.

The twinkling smile came back and Lois's knees did that mushy thing again and there was a flush of warmth across her chest. Oh, that smile was just not fair if it could do that to her every time.

"There are no heroes left in the world, Miss Lane." Kal-El pointed out, his tone firm but his voice gentle. "If I'm not the one to do this, then who else is there?"

Lois had no reply to that, because it was damingly true.

"I'm not trying to be a hero, Miss Lane. I'm just trying to save the planet." he said.

Then he stepped back and kicked off the floor until he was in the air. The air around him appeared to bend and then it snapped forward like a rubber band. He darted up through the hole in the ceiling and out through the broken windows on the other side.

Lois stared in the direction of his departure for a moment and then shook her head.

"Isn't that the same thing?"

She patted down her coat for her phone. She had lost her bag when Sofia had shuffled them off to the Slam and she did half hope it could be recovered, but she'd stuck her phone to an inside pocket.

Her phone was still where she'd left it, a little damp, but this was an indestructible WayneTech phone. It had already withstood two dunkings in a great lake and it still turned on without any damage whatsoever.

Once it was safely in hand, she rushed for the stairs, but took them up towards the roof instead of down. There was a dimensional portal open above the city and there was about to be a clash of titans.

Lois Lane wasn't going to let this one slip by her. The story of the century if she had ever seen it.

The portal was well over two hundred feet across by the time Clark laid eyes on it again and it was still getting larger. The lightning storm had only gotten even wider and more vicious, the strikes lashing out five times a second.

 _How much worse is this going to get?_ He wondered.

But there was just no time to ponder about it. He had to deal with it before it got worse. Nam-Ek was still in front of the portal to the Phantom Zone, shouting passionately into the void.

" _Dalgemey Dru-Zod! Nih pagetve hva akaen! Nih jkev hva spasklor! Avezo daun vak_ _as rupsh atso saldunllik_!"

"I don't think so!" Clark shouted, tackling the other Kryptonian bodily.

Nam-Ek instantly elbowed him the jaw and then the chest in quick succession before Clark could get a firm grip on him and shove him away from the mouth of the portal. The much larger Kryptonian turned the tables even more in his favor and seized Clark in a choke-hold. The feeling of getting choked was just the same as last time; the pressure around his neck, the restricting sensation, unable to draw in a full breath, the knowledge that Nam-Ek could probably kill him. It was just as frightening as the first time.

"Know your place, you diseased abomination!" Nam-Ek hissed, disgusted. "If your father had had any sense, he would have never gone through with such a dangerous experiment!"

"My parents were good people." Clark growled back. Three hours of talking to their A.I. facsimiles had shown him that much.

"Good people? Hah! The lies your grandfather has already told you!" Nam-Ek spat. "Good people don't risk an epidemic for their own selfish ends! Believe whatever you want, but know that the truth is that your sainted parents were _never_ good people!"

With that, he threw Clark.

It wasn't just any piddly little throw, no, Nam-Ek spun sharply to build up momentum and _heaved_ Clark like a shot-put just as the portal went ***BRRRNNNNN!*** a third time. The younger Kryptonian was caught in the energy pulse and it smacked him straight towards the nearest building.

The spinal helix struggled to exert enough counter-force to lift him into the air, but Clark couldn't even concentrate on gaining any control over his direction of travel. He crashed through the building's side amid a shower of glass and steel and concrete and then through the floor to the next level down. Electrical wires and load-bearing struts sparked and popped and screamed in distress. The floor below barely absorbed enough of his momentum to stop him. But he did stop, his body smashing a crater into the carpeted concrete.

"Ow..." he whispered dizzily, his body throbbing from the blows.

Mostly invincible, yes. Not a scratch marred his skin.

Immune to pain and blunt impact, not so much, it seemed.

He blinked up at the broken ceiling above and briskly shook his head, trying to clear the haze from it. Before he could really get his head back on straight, concrete dust rained down on him. Nam-Ek's hands were suddenly around his throat again and driving him down through the next floor and the next and the next, smashing him off every single strut and beam that was even remotely in the way. Nam-Ek's face was an even thicker mask of anger, as though Clark's assertion that his parents were stand-up people had angered him to the very core.

The trip down to the bottom floor seemed to take forever but in reality, probably only a few seconds had passed by the time Clark hit the second floor and was bulldozed right through it into the building's lobby.

Just as people were filing in for work.

They screamed and ran and threw their briefcases as Clark hit the floor with Nam-Ek on top of him, shaking the ground in every direction. The older Kryptonian closed his hands tightly over Clark's throat, squeezing until he wheezed.

"What do you know about the Contact Plague?" Nam-Ek demanded. "Primis Interpretaris! It was a swampy pit of a planet with a fascinating ecological system, but no colonial value. That's where our explorers contracted it and then they brought it home!"

He reared up, dragging Clark with him, and threw him again. This time, like a baseball, sending him across the lobby and through the glass-paned doors. People coming in dove out of the way or fell flat to the ground. Clark bounced off the pavement twice, cratering the ground, and then smashed into a parked car on the other side of the street. Before he could get up, Nam-Ek appeared and grabbed him around the neck again.

"We didn't find out for _months_ that it was carried by parasites in the water." he went on. "Our explorers were infected by the time they left. Hyper-sleep slowed the advance of the pox and they remained asymptomatic for the first two weeks. But they were contagious the whole time!"

He slammed Clark into the pavement so hard that the reporter's head rung from the blow.

"The plague cut us down hundreds at a time! We did everything we could to stop its spread, but it was highly contagious through touch alone! It took us three years to manufacture a vaccine that plague couldn't develop an immunity to!"

"What does that have to do with my parents?" Clark asked gravelly, through his compressed vocal cords.

"I'm getting there." Nam-Ek growled. "One year from the issue of the vaccine, we thought we had beaten it. Two years out and that's when it happened."

He lifted Clark up and threw him back into the pavement, like the physical blow would drive the point home in a more visceral manner.

"Children were being born already infected! The pox had mutated to become part of our genetic structure!"

Nam-Ek released Clark's throat, but stomped his foot down into the center of his chest, driving him deeper into the cracked street. All around him, Clark heard the onlookers cry out in what sounded like sympathy.

"Some of them were lucky! Infected, but asymptomatic! The others weren't! Thousands of babies died before their third birthdays! We were passing the plague on from parent to child at conception!" Nam-Ek roared, his face coloring dark with a surge of blood. "So we perfected artificial insemination, prioritized genetic research, and created our genesis chambers. In five years, we were able to isolate the infectious gene and deactivate it within the fetus, but we couldn't destroy it from the gene pool. We were all infected! We could only pray that the virus didn't mutate again!

"We never experienced another outbreak thanks to two thousand years of genetic manipulation, but we were infected right up to the day that Krypton destroyed itself. That plague sits in my genetic coding just as it does yours."

Nam-Ek leaned over, sneering at Clark with graying teeth.

"And your parents. Your foolish _stupid_ parents risked re-activating that dormant gene by conceiving you without using the Loom-Nak procedure." he growled. "You, Kal-El of Krypton, could have destroyed your own people in the blink of an eye.

"What do you have to say for yourself?"

Clark gritted his teeth and doubted there was anything he could say that would come close to placating Nam-Ek's anger. The man seemed to have taken the whole thing very personally even in spite of the two millennia gap that separated Then from Now.

His parents had been scientists and if he knew anything about scientists, it was that they were careful and followed the safety procedures before going ahead with anything dangerous. He had been conceived in a genesis chamber just the same as any other Kryptonian child, but carried in his mother's womb rather than an artificial one. Certainly Jor-El had insured that his second child would be born healthy and asymptomatic and not contagious.

But Clark highly doubted that Nam-Ek wanted to hear anything of the sort. He just wanted someone to blame.

 _Clark goddammit, use your heat vision._

The thought practically came out of nowhere, but it reminded him that he had that sort of thing at his disposal. The skin of his eyes heated up and the blue-white gathered in his irises and he glared at Nam-Ek's forehead. Lines of visible white heat bristled up, hitting the older Kryptonian right in the middle of the forehead.

"Aagh!" Nam-Ek reeled back, clapping a hand over his head in shock and pain.

Two miles above the city, the portal released another energy pulse and that bone-shaking subsonic noise. The people of Metropolis ducked and covered their ears, crying out and the sound of their fear hit Clark in the chest.

Whether these people knew it or not, their lives were in Clark's hands.

He could not let them die.

He could not fail them.

Clark grabbed Nam-Ek by the back of his shirt and burst into the air, heading back to the portal. It was more than three hundred feet across by this point, looking like it could swallow Metropolis- _-_ or at least New Troy - _-_ whole. The lightning storm had become a vicious, ferocious thing that snapped and bit, throwing so much electricity into the air there just appeared to be one giant near constant strobe.

This had to end.

He produced the prisoner tag, ready to hook it the back of Nam-Ek's shirt, but the elder saw it and twisted around in Clark's grip, lunging for the thin strip of metal with a crazed grin.

"I don't know where you got that, but thank you for bringing it!" he laughed, clawing at the younger man's arm in an effort to reach it. "My lord Zod will have the pleasure of pushing you into the Zone himself! Once he's done ripping you apart!"

"It's meant for you!" Clark snapped back, releasing Nam-Ek so he could pass the tag into his other hand. He kicked Nam-Ek in the chest to give himself some breathing room to fly backwards. "I don't want to kill you!"

"Did anyone tell you that you might have to?" Nam-Ek taunted, lunging at him so ferociously that Clark nearly lost his grip on the tag. "I will see to it that this planet is ravaged! Cured of the human blight! It won't be long now!"

Nam-Ek's weight and strength were both greater and he was definitely more adept at using both to win the fight for him. He resorted to using his fists to make Clark let go, employing a speed that might have shattered Clark's bones if he had allowed the blows to connect. He pushed the tag down into his fist and kept dodging. It was all he could do to keep the other Kryptonian's hands off it.

"So pathetic! You couldn't hope to beat me! Not that you ever had the training!" the geneticist taunted. "The last son of the House of El! You _will_ kneel before Zod!"

"I don't need to overpower you! I just need to outlast you!" Clark shouted, moving out of the way another roundhouse punch - _-_ they seemed to be the favored form of attack. "I was raised human, Nam-Ek! I have all the stubbornness they're known for!"

"That sentimentality was the death of your parents and it'll be the death of you!" Nam-Ek snarled. He coiled up for another attack, but from the entrance of the portal, someone shouted.

Just like that, he lost interest in the fight, in what he was trying to do. His expression became something like rapture and he whipped around to see what was going on. Emerging slowly from the darkness was a profile that Clark had made himself memorize. The Roman-esque features, the aquiline nose, the short dark hair, and the scar running down past the left eye.

General Dru-Zod, the man who might have destroyed Krypton before it had destroyed itself.

But he hadn't crossed the threshold yet. He hadn't emerged into this world. But he was framed from behind by too many dark shapes to count. His army, following in his footsteps as they always would.

And Nam-Ek was utterly distracted, his arms raised in both supplication and greeting, his expression one of rapture.

There was no time like now.

Clark acted, hooking the tag onto the back of Nam-Ek's shirt, right between the shoulder blades where it was harder to reach. The older Kryptonian made a slightly surprised noise, but that was all he was able to do before Clark spun on the spot to build up momentum and kicked him hard in the back, sending him towards the portal. The blowing wind reversed, sucking straight towards the Phantom Zone and beyond its dark threshold.

And that was when Nam-Ek realized what was going on.

" _NOOOO_!" he screamed in defiance, but it was too late. The portal recognized the tag and recognized him as a prisoner and the suction jerked him over the boundary of the rings before he could so much as turn around.

"It's better than killing you." Clark commented, however watching with no small amount of satisfaction when the geneticist tumbled right into Zod, throwing them both back into the darkness.

Dodging the lightning, he flew up to the bottom of the rings were they joined and touched the rune to deactivate the projector.

Instantly, the lightning strikes became less violent and the fierce winds started to die. The portal released another pulse of energy, but instead of jumping outwards, it contracted tightly and began shrinking at a fantastic rate. The blinding blue light dimmed and the dark circle faded. The doorway collapsed in on itself, the cloud cover turned to vapor and dissipated, and within a minute, the metal bands snapped back around the seven-inch sphere, dropping into Clark's outstretched hands. It vibrated for a second, and then the light inside resumed its previous waxing/waning business, continuing to search for the right frequency.

Clark breathed a long sigh of relief. He had done it. He had put Nam-Ek in the Phantom Zone and he was mostly sure that nobody was actually dead. Earth was safe from any disasters General Zod could wrought upon it. Humanity was safe.

It was over before it had ever begun.

And the sun started to rise in earnest.

Bundling the projector under his arm, Clark started to descend, but a lone figure standing on the helicopter pad of the building where he had left Lois caught his eye and he laughed. _Of course_ it was Lois, what had he been thinking? _Of course_ she wouldn't go anywhere; there was a story to be had. He changed his course to join her.

Lois was holding her bruised and fractured wrist to her chest and her phone in the other hand, its record light flashing. Her eyes grew wider and wider as he approached. There was no flash of recognition anywhere in her eyes - she didn't recognize him - but there was relief and a sense of open-mouthed awe as she watched him touch down on the roof in front of her.

Lois took her eyes off the phone's screen to look at the man in front of her, not sure if the emotion she was feeling was fright, awe, or... perhaps arousal? Once the adrenaline got going, they all seemed to feel the same to her. He was majestic to look at, truly. That square jaw, those bright _inhumanly_ blue eyes, goodness gracious those muscles were going to lurk around the edges of her dreams for a while. His mere presence was oddly reassuring, comforting. _'Everything's okay',_ his smile alone seemed to say.

But even with the rising sun at his back, she knew he wasn't entirely human, or if there was any human in him at all.

"Who are you?" Lois asked. "Really, who are you?"

Kal-El just smiled gently, reassuringly. He only said:

"Take my hand."

* * *

-0-

if you're binge-reading, this is a good place to stop.


	24. Typhoons in Taiwan

In case it hasn't become achingly clear to some: Metropolis's geographic location is not on the east coast where it usually is. Nah, I went north for this. Welcome to Metropolis, Michigan!

Specifically, welcome to Michigan's Upper Peninsula, the Keweenaw Peninsula (and goodbye Houghton we hardly knew ye). I chose a northerly location based mostly on the fact that Siegel and Schuster were living in Toronto when they started work on Superman in 1938. (Gotham is still the armpit of New Jersey tho)

I finished writing that boss battle, so we're marginally in the home stretch for Story 3. There's a good chance I might have it finished by the end of September.

And I went ahead with that deviantart page. Not much new information up yet, but I've clearing out some of the photo backlog on my hard-drive. Come find me at: Shatter-verse

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Four: Typhoons in Taiwan

A sudden sense of vertigo and falling caused Lois to jerk reflexively, only to realize that she was lying on a flat surface and not falling to her death from two miles up. The only things over her head were the bright lights and the eggshell white ceiling of a hospital clinic.

"Oh god, I'm alive." she muttered in a flat, deadpan way.

"Well, don't sound so disappointed about it."

One thing was for sure. Perry White didn't have the face of no angel she'd ever seen.

His voice drawled from her left. She looked over to where the editor-in-chief was sitting at her bed-side in a patch of afternoon sunlight, looking up from his tablet. He fixed her with a glare that halfway between angry worry and relief. Perry had been her emergency contact since that first time she had ended up in the hospital getting a bullet taken out of her leg, since she hadn't been in the mind to contact the general and let him insert himself back in her life, as he surely would have.

"What's the verdict? I don't remember hearing it." Lois said, raising her head off the too-soft pillow to look down at herself. She was still in her own clothes, but a nurse had tucked a blanket around her while she'd slept. She was largely unharmed from this angle, though there was a general ache in her torso that no amount of drugs would completely drive away and her left wrist now sported a stiff new cast.

"You crashed when they were taking you down to X-ray, after they gave you the local." Perry started. He was trying to keep up an angry-concerned expression, but it was clearly melting into relief with every passing second. "Total is a fractured wrist, slight hypoxia and dehydration, and something that looks like whiplash. How do you feel?"

Lois thought about that for a moment, narrowing down the causes of the various sensations that hadn't been dulled by the painkillers and obviously could not be pain.

"Starving. I want something with protein and fat and salt." she declared. "Like a cheeseburger. A cheeseburger and fries. Or pizza and breadsticks with cheese sauce." She frowned at the editor. "Don't give me that look, Perry. I honestly haven't eaten since about seven last night."

"The doctor wants you to eat a _balanced_ meal." the editor said. "That means equal portions of proteins, carbohydrates, and green vegetables. That flappy limp slice of green stuff Big Belly Burger laughingly calls lettuce is not going to cut it."

"When did you turn into Mr. Balanced Meal, he who sometimes eats half a bag pizza rolls for lunch?" Lois snarked back.

"I'm just parroting what the doctor wants you to do." Perry said, albeit a tad defensively. He was aware of his eating habits and that they were not the greatest at times. He tried to be good about cutting back on the processed everything - _-_ he was getting on in years, not as young as he used to be, and he'd like to live as long as possible - _-_ but there were days where he gave in.

"You got damn lucky, Ms. Lane." Perry went on in the tone of a very concerned teacher. "I mean, _damn_ lucky that you got out of- whatever happened with just a fractured wrist. When the hospital called me, I thought I'd be contacting your daddy to make funeral arrangements and it's an act of god that I'm not."

For a second, Lois thought he was going to add: _'And what do you have to say for yourself?'_ The editor-in-chief didn't, but he continued to glare at her exactly the same glare her mother used to give when she caught her trying to sneak cookies after midnight. That _'are you really doing this right now?'_ kind of disappointed glare.

"Perry, I didn't fall on purpose." Lois told him, trying to wipe out that glare; it was making her feel seven years old again.

"You _fell_?!" Perry burst out, his face going alternately red and white, his eyes bulging out in horror. "Lois! They're saying that lightning storm _thing_ was two miles above the city! Are you telling me that's where you fell from?!"

The reporter cringed, as it started to occur to her that she was the only person who really knew what had happened. There was, of course, no way the entire city hadn't seen what had happened. It had been big enough, occurring at sunrise, seven-thirty or so on a Tuesday morning. The rush-hour and student crowd would have most certainly stopped to gape.

But she was the only one who had seen it from start to finish.

"...Yes." she admitted. "Don't worry, I have video! I got most of it from the top of some building- _-_ and by 'top', I mean the roof. Where's my phone?" She spotted her coat draped over the chair on the other side and started to roll out of bed so she could get it.

"How did you even get up there?" Perry asked faintly.

"Up where?"

"The lightning storm, Lois. How did you get up _there_?"

"Uhhh... I actually don't know where to start with that." Lois admitted, digging into her coat pockets until she found the sleek body of the phone.

"I might." Perry flipped the tablet around to show her what he'd been looking at.

On the screen was the _Daily Planet_ 's website displaying the Quick 'n' Dirty newsfeed, where they put up the breaking news that had yet to be fully researched and substantiated. Lois ignored the headline that blithered about guardian angels in favor of the full color photograph that occupied most of the page. The scene captured could have come out of a movie - _-_ maybe a movie poster; so theatrical and staged it looked.

The photograph had been snapped by someone who had to have been standing on the roof of a car to get that angle. Her savior - Kal-El, the only name she could assign to him. He was a good ten feet off the ground. with no visible means of support. Lois couldn't see any wires or cranes or lifts. The other people visible in the picture looked shocked, horrified, and completely in awe. You couldn't be surrounded by more than several dozen people without someone spotting wires.

This man was floating under his own power.

There was a man in Metropolis who could _fly_.

And it was really sinking in now that the adrenaline had worn off and the light-headed-ness was gone.

Lois's breath whooshed out of her.

The man with his thick, strong arm and his solid chest. His bright blue eyes that were piercing even in lower resolution of the photograph. In the center of his chest was a red and gold pentagonal shield featuring a heavily stylized S.

" _Hang on, I've got you!"_

The baritone voiced echoed through hazy memory, but it made Lois's toes curl, made her shiver. There was a voice that you might feel in your ribs; a rumbling bass that vibrated your chest. Even in the midst of a crazy plunge through the air, it had been absurdly reassuring. Remembering it now - _-_ even when she was standing beside the hospital bed while her phone powered up - _-_ still made her feel safe.

The man in the picture wasn't an angel, not in the most traditional sense of the term. Where there probably should have been a toga or some white robes was a suit of some kind - _-_ a rich royal blue color with highlights of red on his inner thighs and the side of his chest - _-_ that only emphasized just how hugely muscled he was. Corded clenching biceps, thighs as thick as Lois's neck, and pectorals you could grate cheese on. Instead of wings there was the long crimson cape that fluttered around the ankles of his red boots and wrapped around his shoulders to clasp together at the base of his throat. And there was Lois herself, collapsed in a swoon across his broad shoulder.

"What the hell! I look like a fainting damsel in distress!" she raged, turning bright red in humiliation. If it was the middle of the afternoon, then she had been out cold for a few hours now. That meant the picture had gotten just about everywhere in the meantime.

Perry smiled. "Sorry Lois, but apparently that was just a good photo op." he said, not sounding quite that apologetic.

"When was this picture taken?! I don't remember this!" Lois snatched the tablet from the editor-in-chief so she could get a closer look.

"In front of the hospital. Think he decided to save you on the ambulance fee." Perry shrugged.

Lois gritted her teeth. There was no way this picture wasn't everywhere by now. She had been fast asleep for a good seven hours or so; no time anymore for damage control. She couldn't even remember getting down off that building, much less all the way to the hospital. Maybe the flying man had given the staff her name and place of employment- _-_ which would ultimately beg the question of how he had even known both.

"This really isn't a good picture." she commented, scowling at it.

"It's still gone viral." Perry pointed out. "You probably didn't see what happened over on Broadway, but the video's up online. It's _everywhere_ online. Internet's blowing up. People are talking about it. They want to know what's going on." He leaned forward and looked his best reporter square in the eye. "Lois, what everyone saw was something that looked like a lightning storm. Others are saying it was a portal. Everyone here in Metropolis screaming about it being Hell's Gate all over again. But no one knows worth a damn what actually happened up there. No one except you, is the vibe I'm getting."

"Lightning storm _and_ portal. Here." Lois unlocked the phone screen and tossed it down on the bed in front of Perry. "I don't know how good it is, but we can definitely cull a few stills for the front page."

While Perry queued up the video, Lois sat down on the bed to read the Quick 'n' Dirty blog post. She examined the photo again, ignoring her overly-dramatic swoon that belonged on the cover of a pulp sci-fi novel and focused on the flying man. The photo was a touch grainy - _-_ likely taken from someone's potato camera - _-_ but she could still discern the strong lines of his jaw and the very defined musculature and a single spit-curl of hair that fell over his forehead. There was a weird, Good Ol' Boy look about him. Like he was just your friendly neighborhood flying man popping around and performing good deeds.

She watched the video first, wincing every time Kal-El was slammed into the ground while Dr. Essex screamed about plagues and infected children and she especially listened to the part when Dr. Essex told him that the virus was still in their genes. Chances were that it was still deactivated, but a lot of people were going to be talking about it for weeks to come.

She read the article next. It opened with the really corn-tastic line _"You might believe a man can fly..."_ Ugh, who was responsible for that load of cheese? She checked the byline- _-_ Oh, it was Wayne Sparks. Good reporter, but borderline nutball conspiracy theorist. It was short and dissolved quite quickly into hysterical (but correct) speculation about aliens about halfway through and then segued into secret government genetic research conspiracy theories. But it got back on track with the last lines asking: _'Does Metropolis at last have a superhero in its midst? Are we seeing the beginning of a new age of superheroes?'_

 _Good question, Wayne. Maybe your nutball head is good for something._ Lois thought, admittedly a touch disparagingly. Wayne wrote for their weekly Weird Science column and dealt more with the theoretical than the practical.

" _Take my hand."_

That lovely baritone voice sounding off in the room made Lois flinch and look around expectantly until she realized it was coming out of her phone, towards the end of the video. Perry was staring at the screen with a hanging jaw.

"I think I just went a little gay." he commented, not taking his eyes off the action.

"Yeah, I definitely felt my preference for men get affirmed." Lois agreed, grinning.

"That..." Perry fished around for words. "This is good stuff, Lois. Still not a whole lot to see, but it's better than any other footage out there. The Broadway stuff's pretty wobbly and they had a clear shot and everything."

"Yeah, I didn't see what happened over on Broadway and this portal was still a good mile over my head." Lois agreed. She had been quite surprised about how close the zoom feature had gotten. Still too far away to make out any significant details, but... "Now the _Daily Planet_ has the only good footage in town."

"There were two of them up there." Perry said, rewinding the playback and pausing it for a better glimpse. "You're right, that looks like a lightning storm _and_ a portal." he agreed. "Lois, how did you even get yourself _into_ this situation in the first place?"

"Sofia Gigante."

And Perry groaned and rolled his eyes because Lois had been after this woman from the start and nothing good had come of it.

"No, no! I've got her this time, Perry!" Lois insisted, practically leaping across the hospital bed to get in his face. "She's up to something _huge_! She practically told me herself, straight from the horse's mouth! It looks like I'll be able to nail her ass to the wall! I need to do some more digging, but I just might be able to get an exposé ready in time for next week."

The editor-in-chief crossed his arms, looking quite unimpressed.

"You could have died." he said flatly.

"But I didn't." Lois pointed out brightly. She had every reason to be pleased with outcome. She was alive to sass the chief because- well, mostly sheer dumb luck and some higher deity looking out for her.

And some guy named Kal-El.

"Look, that guy right there, the one not in the cape. The angry one." Lois pointed to the Broadway video. "That's Dr. Norman Essex. He used to be a geneticist at S.T.A.R. Labs when he up and quit two years ago. He started working for Sofia after that. To what end, I don't know, but those human experimentation rumors going on up there were real and he was the one behind it. So I have my guesses as to why he went after mob pay, but guesses aren't going to cut it! I need to find the truth!"

Perry stared at her for a moment in almost baffled amusement, then heaved a sort of laughing sigh.

"I guess there isn't anything that can slow you down forever." he commented fondly. He stood up. "All right, but the first thing I want from you is a write-up about what happened up there. Full article if you feel up to it."

"Not a problem." Lois saluted, then shrugged. "Might have to wait on that until Thursday. I feel like crap. Speaking of that, am I allowed to go home? Am I here to stay? Are they keeping me overnight?"

"No, you haven't been admitted. They just decided to let you sleep. I'm going to lean on our insurance guys to get your bill paid, since I can argue you got injured while pursuing a story."

"Awesome." Lois handed him back the tablet.

"Can I take your phone with me? The internet guys can extract the video and get it posted in just half an hour."

"Sure, I'll swing by on my way home."

" _Go_ home." Perry ordered, because he knew she would hang around her desk if he didn't force the matter. "Go home and rest up. For god's sake, you have a fractured wrist. Don't be afraid to take it easy for at least twenty-four hours."

" _That_ , Mr. White, oh great and mighty editor-in-chief of the morning edition, may he be forever over-strung and critical, is not something I can actually promise." Lois said, putting a hand on her heart.

"You're drugged." Perry observed, as he had never heard the reporter be quite so... 'Complimentary' was not the word, but it was a possible one. "Go home, Miss Lane. One of your friends is here." he added, making for the door.

"I don't have friends!" Lois called after him, scooting back to the edge of the bed and throwing her legs over the side. Her winter boots were down there, so she slid them back on just as someone else came into the room.

Or rather, burst into the room like a stage actor making a dramatic entrance that was either supposed to be funny or slightly terrifying, but at first glance, Lois couldn't tell what effect Colletta had been aiming for.

"What's that about you not having any friends?!" Colletta shouted in deep dramatic tones. "I object to such a despicable statement!"

"Hi, Etta." Lois muttered.

She glanced over the woman. Colletta had fresh bruising on her forehead like she had head-butted someone and a scraped up cheek that was still red around the edges, but that was the extent of her visible injuries. She looked better than Lois too, but Colletta had likely gotten the chance to go home, shower, and take an un-drugged nap while Lois still smelled exactly like she had crawled out of Hob's Bay.

"And looked who survived- whatever happened up there! My girl!" Colletta said proudly, walking over to the bedside to give Lois a one-armed hug that still squeezed her shoulders together. "How's the wrist?"

Lois shrugged. "It doesn't really feel like anything. Like numb, but I can't not feel it. It just feels like a wrist." she admitted. Of course, she was on some pretty efficient painkillers. "How'd you guys get away from Sofia?"

"Dumb luck." Colletta replied, sitting down beside the reporter. "When flying man snatched you up- Wasn't that the Dr. Essex guy I found for you? Anyways, he was a pretty damn good distraction and everyone was staring, so Steve just leaps up and starts shooting up the lobby like holy hell. All the mob guys ducked and we managed to get out of there before any of them got a shot off. I think he might have nicked Gigante on the way out."

"Really? Gold star." Lois drawled, grinning at the thought of the mighty mafia queen picking a bullet out of her arm. Not so tough, then.

"We stole the food delivery truck in the garage. That thing must have been armored because the garage door folded like tinfoil. I don't think those are supposed to do that even though we were only gunning forty on the way out." Colletta said that last bit mostly to herself. "We ditched it a few blocks from a train station and caught the morning commuter back into New Troy."

"Did you head-butt someone?" Lois asked, pointing to her own forehead.

"Yeah, the delivery truck driver." Colletta said, smiling delightedly at the memory. She didn't get to do that very often. It wasn't that the Met P.D. had a rule specifically against head-butting, but they did seem to frown on it more than they oughta.

"So where are our intrepid gentlemen?"

"Steve's been taken into protective custody until this business with Trask and Gigante blows over and it's worth more than my job to tell you where, since he's been classed as a high-profile suspect in what's starting to look like an attempted murder case. And Detective Gordon said something about talking to his commander, but I actually haven't seen him since he left to go home and change.

"But what **I** want to know, Miss Lois Lane," The police officer poked her in the shoulder meaningfully. "What I want to know about the very, very most... Is that huge-ass super-cell looking thing that popped up over the city for about five minutes and made everyone on the train wonder if the Rapture was coming."

"I don't want to talk about it right now." Lois stated. "Besides, you'll see it better when the video hits the top of the _Daily Planet_ blog in about thirty minutes- Oh my god! Etta!" In a sudden panic, she grabbed her old friend by the shirt collar. "Where's Clark?!"

She felt ashamed, sick to her stomach. Why had it taken her so long to remember that Clark had been on the hit-list too? What if he was already dead and her sarcasm at Sofia and her father had delayed the chance to save him? She still owed him for the first time!

Colletta frowned. "You mean Clark Kent?"

"Yes! Clark fucking Kent! Does anyone know about what happened to my dorky farm boy work-partner from the most pathetic-sounding Kansas town I've never heard of?!" Lois demanded.

" _Your_ dorky farm boy work-partner?"

"Well, he's not anyone else's! But you're not answering my question! Has anyone heard from him?! What about Clark Kent?!"

"What about me?"

His voice was like a random ray of sunshine poking through a cloudy sky and if Lois was going to follow the metaphor through to its logical conclusion, then Clark's face peering tentatively around the frame of the door was the sun itself.

He didn't look like someone had put him through the laundry mangler, but he still looked as thought he'd had something of a rough night. Black hair all astrew, ridiculous glasses sitting slightly crooked on his nose, but not so much as the tiniest of scratches anywhere on him as far as she could see- _-_

"Farm boy!" Lois roared. She seized the pillow from the bed and leapt at him. "Imma kick your flannel-covered ass from here to Canada! Making me worry about you is _not cool!_ "

She swung the pillow at him ferociously and hit him in the shoulder when he turned away to try and protect himself from the onslaught. Not bad for only having one good hand.

"Where the fuck have you been?! Going missing right after an explosion is the worst you could have done! I would have been calling you all night if the mob hadn't been chasing me!"

"Ms. Lane, I'm sorry- _-_!" Clark ducked away from the pillow. "Can I explain?"

He wasn't sure what precisely he was going to be explaining. She hadn't recognized him on the roof top, but now that all the adrenaline was passed and she had the space to think about what had happened, it was possible that Lois had retrospectively recognized him and just didn't want to say that out loud in front of Colletta.

"I'll let you know when I'm ready to hear it!" Lois swung the pillow again, this time at his head, hoping to knock his glasses off. But either her aim was skewed because of the painkillers or Clark was just better at dodging her inebriated swings rather than her sober ones, but either way, she missed him.

Instead of winding back for another try, she let the pillow fly out of her hand and threw herself at him. It just wasn't any kind of attack that happened, because the fight had burned out of her as quickly as it had come and it was damn good to see the farm boy idiot in one piece.

So instead, she did something that she hadn't done to anyone (except Lucy) in several years.

She hugged Clark.

Colletta uttered a low, impressed whistle.

It did feel a lot more like Lois was trying to get a grip on him so she could throw him to the floor or something, but since she was really just standing there and leaning on him, Clark figured it was supposed to be a hug.

 _Oh... Do I-_ - _hug back?_ He wondered. _Normally when she goes for the physical contact, she uses fists, not-_ - _this._

 _I think I should hug back._

"Wow, she is _seriously_ drugged." Colletta commented, raising an eyebrow at the out-of-the-blue display of affection. "The last time I saw her hug someone was the last time she got smash drunk and that someone was _me_."

"I can hear you." Lois mumbled, muffled into Clark's chest.

"Well!" The police officer got off the bed to stand beside the reporters. "I'm Colletta. Lois and I used to date in college."

"Ah... That- _-_ must have been interesting." Clark said, actually not completely surprised that Lois had been around that particular block. Wasn't college really the time when people started - _-_ ahem, exploring?

He stuck out a hand politely. "Clark Kent."

"I figured as much. She doesn't talk about you." Colletta reciprocated the handshake. "I found about you from Detective Turpin."

"She barely talks about herself. She did mention you once in passing."

"Oh really? One for the record books, that."

"I can still hear you." Lois grumbled.

"We should totally swap numbers and meet up for coffee or sandwiches some time and gossip about Lois and her short-comings." Colletta suggested brightly, still addressing Clark and acting like she hadn't heard the other reporter.

"I'd like that." Clark said. He wasn't talking about gossiping over Lois's short-comings. No, he was responding to the _other_ offer, the one that said _'I like you, let's be friends'_.

"Ugh, this is why I tell people I don't have friends." Lois groaned, shaking her head against Clark's chest.

"I always knew you were a liar!" Colletta said cheerfully, squeezing past the two of them to leave since they were standing in the doorway. "Steal my number from Lois in the near future, Clark, and I'll see you at the SCU the next time!"

"Bye."

Lois just went 'ugh' again.

"She seems nice." Clark commented.

"She's a minion of hell in the guise of a kickboxing cheerleader." the other reporter grouched, finally pulling away from Clark's (broad, strong, muscle-bound) chest. She looked at him with a slightly unfocused expression and said: "Now seriously, what the hell happened to you? Where have you been?"

"A hospital, for part of the night. I had a concussion." Clark lied, one that Lois had no choice but to accept (because she had been looking for burn victims, not concussions, and she hadn't contacted all the hospitals in the city).

"And you didn't call me because?" she prompted.

"Well, I tried, but you weren't answering your phone." Clark replied. Again, plausible, as Lois mostly tuned out the world when she was researching. She wouldn't have necessarily noticed her phone ringing. "I did get the voice-mail you left me, so I wasn't sure if going home would be safe. Since I had a concussion, the doctor didn't want me spending the night alone. So I called Dr. Sullivan and asked him to come get me."

"Of fucking course you did!" Lois punched his arm a little harder than normal. "Good on you, practicing basic safety with half a mob coming after you!" She grinned, partially in relief. " _Finally_ , a partner with some actual common sense!"

"Um... Thanks." Clark said slowly, frowning. "What's this about half a mob coming after you?"

"It's a story. I'll tell you all about it over lunch." Lois said, flapping a hand dismissively. "Right now, I want something to eat. Doctor's orders are to get a balanced meal and probably take a nap later, so we're getting lunch, you and me. Right now. I'll tell you all about what happened. Did you see the lightning storm?"

"Hard to miss it." Clark nodded. Especially when he'd been twenty feet away from it. "How's your wrist?"

He must have heard the snap of bone from two miles off and that, combined with Lois's snarking remarks, had told him what Nam-Ek had done. He was glad it wasn't more than a fracture that would heal up fine in a matter of weeks, rather than a crushed joint that she would never be able to use again. Part of him was insanely proud that Lois had stood up to Nam-Ek, but at the same time, Clark wanted to scold her for running her mouth when she definitely could have died.

Not that scolding her would have worked. If there was one thing that he had learned in the weeks he had worked alongside Lois Lane, it was that no one and nothing ever stopped her.

"Eh, it just feels like a dead weight." Lois commented, pulling the limb to her chest. "These are some solid painkillers, Smallville, let me tell you. Nothing beats hospital-grade."

Clark smiled. "I'm glad you're all right, Ms. Lane." he said sincerely. "Why don't you get your boots on and we'll get out of here." he suggested, gesturing to her boots. "I'll be the gentleman and pay for lunch."

* * *

Commander Friedland had been with the Metropolis police department long enough to turn old and gray with less than seven years to go before retirement and only a limp to tell of the reason why he had gotten put behind a desk in the first place. In a career that did have a significant mortality rate, that was an achievement to be celebrated.

So he was the very sort of cop who had seen it all and then some.

But even then...

"You want to _transfer_ , Detective Gordon?"

"Yessir." Jim nodded.

"To the Special Crimes Unit?"

"Yessir, with your approval."

Commander Friedland laid down the transfer request form and fixed his best detective with a stern, questioning stare. "Detective, Lieutenant Sawyer has been trying for the past year to fish you out of the MCU." he said. "I don't blame her; you're damn good at the job. I've had every department in this building come knocking around asking if you were done with Homicide. But what I don't understand is _why_ you're filing this form."

"With all due respect, Commander, I thought it would have been obvious in the wake of this morning's events." Jim said.

"I'm afraid it's really not." Commander Friedland admitted. The events of this morning fell squarely into the lap of the SCU; it was their job to handle the fucking weird Code Veitch stuff that came down the pipe. That did not mean, however, they needed his best Homicide detective to help them. "Major Crimes needs you more than Special Crimes."

"Sir, it's clear to me that **I** need Special Crimes more than Major Crimes." Jim corrected. "I've been on the trail of Sofia Gigante for nearly two years and I've gotten nowhere. But not even eight hours in cooperation with the SCU put me right inside Gigante's primary base of operations. I've never gotten anywhere _near_ that close. I believe the MCU is no longer capable of providing me the latitude I need in order to properly pin a solid on Gigante."

Commander Friedland pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of course you got so close. No one has a leash on the SCU." he muttered into his hand. It would have been Captain Jase if the turd-ball hadn't been so upright with his morals.

"Sorry sir, what was that?" Jim frowned. He hadn't quite heard the muttered statement, but it hadn't sounded complimentary.

"Lieutenant Sawyer is a good woman and a good cop." Commander Friedland said, effectively doubling back over his statement. "She's done the best she can with what she was given, but Detective... The SCU?"

The Special Crimes Unit did have its good points. They did have an acceptable success rate and a record low incidence of disciplinary referrals which, in the eyes of the higher ups, made them the most well-behaved department in the force. The latter was due in large part to the fact that there was only eleven people in the department. With such a small number, it was easier to watch them for rowdiness and it was harder to hide a misdeed without a crowd of anonymity.

On the same token, however, it made them largely ineffective and uncoordinated on the account of just not having the numbers to properly enforce their portion of the law. It made them slipshod, shoddy, cutting corners every which way in order to simply get the job done. They were far from the efficient machine they were expected to be.

"Detective Gordon, the SCU is something of a joke. And you've done so much good here." Commander Friedland said entreatingly.

"So I've been told, and thank you for the opportunity." Jim said sincerely. "But what I'm being presented with is the chance to rid this city once and for all of any considerable mob influence. If the SCU has a habit of doing this sort of thing, I could have Sofia Gigante in jail on an indisputable charge in a matter of six months. I can't pass it up, not when it will do Metropolis so much good."

Commander Friedland hadn't made it all the way up to his position by not reading the signs. There was no arguing with James Gordon once he set him mind to something. The son of a Chicago beat cop and a Chicago City Attorney. The very idea of law-keeping and law enforcing was written into his bones. He was a bit wild for a cop, but a good one all the same.

 _And a better head of the SCU than Sawyer the dyke and Toadie Turpin, I won't argue that._ The commander added silently.

"Well," he said out loud. "I'm sorry to see you go, Detective, but the SCU could certainly use a man of your skills to bring them up to code."

He picked up a pen and made a show out of scrawling his signature across the bottom of the form.

"Just come back and visit your old pals here in the MCU once in a while."

"Thank you, Commander Friedland."

* * *

The elevator seemed to take forever to climb up the forty floors to the pent-house level, but General Lane didn't allow so much as a hint of impatience to peek through his stern professional expression. He stood in the center of the elevator car at parade rest, the tablet tucked under his arms.

Operating under the assumption that her primary base was now compromised, Sofia Gigante had retreated to a safe-house in Midtown Metropolis. One of her comfortable bolt-holes that was technically owned by her father and used by him when he came a-visiting. Mrs. Gigante's legitimately registered residence in a file somewhere and if the police had the gall to come looking for her, they would start there.

 _If_ it occurred to any of them to look for places under Carmine Falcone's name, then they would have to be the stupidest goddamn cops in the country. For the reach of the Roman Empire extended beyond the limits of Gotham and its county in small but exacting ways. To infringe upon even its edges would mean retribution. And retribution would be swift and fierce.

The elevator dinged to a halt and opened its doors, releasing General Lane into the clutches of an opulent, over-stuffed pent-house suite with glass walls and peaked ceilings and every bit of luxury he couldn't stand the idea of owning. Standing at a window that looked down to the street a dizzying six hundred feet below was Mrs. Gigante herself. She cut a harsh figure in the late evening light spreading orange-gold across the city-scape.

But that wasn't exactly what stopped General Lane on the elevator landing.

On a regular basis, Sofia always wore a long, bulky trench coat. It was heavy and canvas-like and it was known to have a pair of weights in the bottom corners to prevent it from blowing around. In addition, there were no less than six knives and two handguns on the underside at any given time, within easy reach. Underneath that coat, she dressed in a sort of business casual with several layers to further hide the shape of her physique. Slacks cut for a man and steel-toed workman's boots lent her the image of being powerful without actually spoiling anything.

When the coat and all those layers came off, however, it was very easy to see that she was indeed built like a brick shit-house.

Despite his complete self-assured confidence that he was in the mafia queen's good graces, General Lane still a fleeting thought that he was going to get his neck wrung under those steroidal forearms.

"Say what you have come to say, General Lane." Sofia ordered.

"Alcohol and painkillers?" he inquired.

"I doubt you came to say that." Sofia commented, turning enough that he could see the bandage applied to her right arm. She had indeed gotten hit by one of the bullets that Trevor had sprayed around with impunity. She waggled the glass tumbler. "Brandy _is_ my painkiller." she added with a smirk.

"I'm here about what happened early this morning." the general said without further ado. He stepped off the landing and started towards her, swiping a finger across the tablet screen. "It hasn't reached clusterfuck levels yet, but I need to know what you're going to do in the way of damage control. It appears that we have lost Dr. Essex. He was an irreplaceable asset."

"Indeed." Sofia hefted her glass in a silent toast.

General Lane already had the video queued up. It was considered to have come from an anonymous source, but he had already read the reports from this morning, when Nam-Ek had gone a little crazy and made off with the general's own daughter like a madman.

The obsessed and paranoid communities on the internet had been all over the footage since the _Daily Planet_ had posted it and had dissected it to tiny bits. The lightning storm was better confirmed. The portal had been confirmed. Images of the man in the red cape had been passed around so much in the last few hours that he would probably hit some kind of meme status within the next forty-eight.

"See here. This man, the one in the cape, appears to be Trask's Prometheus. He fits the profile. Here, he's throwing or kicking Dr. Essex into the portal. And I don't think he's coming back out." General Lane said. "Mrs. Gigante, I've been running the numbers, as it were. It's my conclusion that we need to postpone phase three. If we go ahead with it now, we'd only be shooting ourselves in the foot. Without Dr. Essex, the most vital component of the plan is notes on paper."

"Indeed." Sofia said again. "Is that all you have come to say, General?"

"Yes." General Lane nodded. He felt strangely pre-empted, as though he had expected more of a discussion.

"Your concerns are noted. Please show yourself out." Sofia said, looking out the window again.

The general left without an argument. The topic had barely been open to begin with and he wouldn't push the matter further. Their partnership was tentative as it was.

As soon as the elevator was on its way down, Sofia spun away from the window, her face a mask of irritation.

"Idiot, I haven't spent ten years digging myself into this city for you to stop me now." she grumbled. "Not for you to stop the expansion of the Roman Empire. My father has plans. **I** have plans."

She went over to the dining table where she had deposited her phone. She sat down and pulled a number out of her contacts list. It was probably the most important one in there, at least for the time being.

"Mannheim, it's me."

" _Sofia! My darling! So lovely to hear from you!_ " declared the oozing, oily voice that made her feel like she needed to take showers after every call. " _What brings your sonorous voice back to my ear?_ "

"The general has tapped out. He thinks it's too risky to move forward at this juncture, given the events of this morning." Sofia explained.

" _Yes, the good doctor Essex. I don't think we'll be seeing him again, all things considered._ "

"I'm going ahead with the next stage. It can be carried out; there will merely be more fatalities than originally estimated. That does mean I will need to call in my favor sooner than planned."

" _Of course, of course. I would expect nothing less from a woman of your calibre!_ " Mannheim replied knowingly. " _If you could just give me a few days to rally the pieces, that would be wonderful. If I could ask, what do you plan to do?_ "

"I'm going to give someone a reputation they don't want. To ensure that they won't interfere at the wrong time." Sofia was hesitant to explain further, as the plan was only just starting to come together. "I'll need your strongman before the Friday after next. Can you make that happen?"

" _Friday after next... Why isn't that-_ "

"Yes. Black Friday. Can you make it happen?"

" _Yes, I can. But Sofia-_ -"

"This line isn't necessarily secure on my end, Mannheim." Sofia interrupted. The dithering idiot did use a voice disguiser, at least.

" _Yes, of course, sorry. My strongman is valuable; he's the only one I've got. I was just hoping you'd tell me what you were going to use him for._ "

"Don't worry. He'll find it to his liking. As will you." the mafia queen assured her contact.

And she hung up.

There was work to be done.

* * *

-0-


	25. How To Be A Hero

It is my amused pleasure to announce that we have officially broke 100 reviews on this story.

Story 3 is also nearly completed. Like the last four chapter are ready to be written and it's all downhill from here.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Five: How To Be A Hero

Thursday morning, Perry was in attack mode.

After the excitement on Tuesday morning, it was a small miracle that he had even waited until Thursday to begin the assault. It was assumed that he had been waiting until the internet stopped exploding so rapidly and the initial waves of speculation had calmed. Waiting a full twenty-four hours in order to assess the aftermath and get a proper scope of the world-wide reaction.

By now, it was either known or strongly rumored that Lois Lane had indeed been involved with Tuesday's lightning storm because wasn't she always at the center when weird shit went down? She had become something of a minor celebrity overnight, for the clear images that she had gotten of what people were starting to call Metropolis's first hero. They also batted around the word "angel" with gleeful abandon.

The entire city was talking about the incident. It had hit the news channels that very afternoon and it had been somewhere on the front page of every evening publication. By early the next morning, it was safe bet that everyone in the city had at least seen one of the dozen pictures floating around. A little over forty-eight hours later, though, and still no one had the full story to present to the public.

Perry was determined that the _Planet_ would be the first.

He ordered several interns to go out on the town. Two of them were tasked to bring back the major news publications and the other three were instructed to start interviewing people right there on the streets. He wanted to get a proper feel for what the city was saying by word of mouth. He stalked the newsroom several times, grabbing reporters by the shoulder and ordering them into the conference room.

"Kent!" Perry's hand landed on Clark's shoulder. "You too. I'm going to need your fast fingers while Lane's outta commission for a few days."

"I've seen her type with one hand." Clark pointed out.

"Yeah, but the painkillers are knocking her out. I don't expect she'll start feeling useful again 'til Monday." Perry informed him. Lois wasn't one of those people who went all funny in the head whilst on strong painkillers. They mostly just kicked her right over into a drug-fueled sleep from which none could wake her until the damn stuff wore off.

"Alright." Clark stood up.

Perry had drafted about two dozen reporters and photographers from across the landscape of the _Planet_ into his campaign. He had grabbed the ones with an eye for the details and a nose for the dirt. His very best muckrakers; the ones who excelled with the proverbial shovel. The ones like Jack Bowman, the kind of reporter who was equivalent to a fisherman who pitched a line and didn't expect a bite, only to hook a fucking shark. Trista Tanner, who had a record for breaking into high-security locations with her camera and it only exceeded Lois's because she had just been on the job longer. Irene Robbins, who could sniff out the smallest details that didn't make sense to anyone. David Sandford, who just never fucking gave up. If anyone could figure out this flying man angel crap and make some kind of logical sense of it, it would be one of them.

As Perry shooed the last reporter into the conference room to close the door, a slightly bedraggled-looking Lois slipped up beside Clark and sent him a glare that warned him not to say a word. She wasn't as snappily dressed as Clark was used to seeing her. She had a fresh just-rolled-out-of-bed look and she wasn't wearing her usual amount of eye make-up. She looked curiously sleep-deprived even though she had probably been crashed in bed for twelve hours and she was holding her arm uncomfortably. It took Clark a moment to recognize that Lois was here with little more than just generic painkillers in her system, rather than what she had been prescribed.

"Ms. Lane, what are you doing here? Perry told you to take the rest of the week off." Clark whispered to her.

"And miss all the excitement? Get real, Smallville." Lois grinned. It was a touch strained. She had indeed foregone her prescribed painkillers in favor of something that wouldn't knock her on her ass. The ibuprofen just took the edge off. She regretted it _-_ \- since she could feel every single ache from the crown of her head to the tip of her toes and wrists were most certainly not meant to have two extra cracks in them _-_ \- but only a little. It was worth being here.

"You should at least be at home, Ms. Lane. You have a fractured wrist." Clark reminded her. She was not fine. He didn't need his x-ray vision to see that. She had this general air of 'awful' about her.

"Well, guess what. I'm fine." Lois grinned a little wider. "I'll go home later, now shush."

"Listen up, all of you." Perry waved a stack of newspapers above his head. "The _News_ : 'It Flies.' The _Star_ : 'Look Ma, No Wires.' The _City Post_ : 'Blue Bomb Buzzes Metropolis.' Just a couple of the headlines from around the city. Read the stories and you'll find they're nothing but packing peanuts. No one has _the_ story."

He slapped the newspapers down on the conference table.

"We're sitting on top of the story of the century here, folks! I want the name of this flying whatchamacallit to go with the _Daily Planet_ like bacon and eggs, frank and beans, death and taxes, politics and corruption!

"Who is he? _What_ is he? Angel or alien or genetic mutation? Metahuman? Where did he come from? What does he want? What is he doing here? Is he buying into this superhero crap that's getting around? Is he an alien or just another flying freak like that Zoom in Central City?"

"Er, Mr. White?" A reporter tentatively raised a hand. "Zoom doesn't fly. He just runs really fast."

"You're missing the point. Our guy flies." Perry said dismissively. "Those are the questions, folks, now I want the answers. I want to run a special edition by Saturday- Next Monday at the absolute latest! Full exclusive! Get me those answers and you'll get _-_ \- Well, probably a raise."

It wouldn't be much of a raise _-_ \- at the end of the day, the _Planet_ wasn't making nearly enough money to justify a pay-raise over five dollars. But an extra two dollars added to the weekly sum was a welcome incentive.

"Now get out there!" Perry made a shooing motion. "I want you on the town! Talk to the people! This guy might fly and be really fast, but he's gotta hang his cape somewhere! This town talks! Find out what it's saying! Go!"

Buzzing with intrigue and growing excitement, the reporters filed out of the conference room. Clark hung back with Lois, waiting for the room to clear out a little. Barely a handful of people were out the door when Perry glanced over in their direction and caught sight of the young woman.

Lois wiggled her fingers in a 'hello'.

Perry sighed.

"I thought I told you to take the rest of the week off." he grumbled, once the last reporter had filed out, leaving just him, Lois and Clark in the conference room. Clark had to stay because Lois was starting to lean on him.

The dark-haired woman shrugged. "You know me, Chief. I don't do the whole 'sitting still' thing very well."

"You look like death warmed over, Lois." the editor said. "If you really wanted to know what was going on, I would have put you on conference call."

"Doesn't do it for me. I'm an action sort of girl." Lois said assertively, pushing off Clark and finding her balance again. She was very sore all over. Every bone in her body felt like it had been stretched to the breaking point.

"Ms. Lane, do you want to sit down?" Clark asked.

"You should sit down, Lois." Perry agreed.

Lois shook her head. "No, if I sit down, I won't be able to get back up and then one of you will have to carry me. And it would have to be Smallville here because your back isn't what is used to be, Chief."

"What's it gonna take for me to send you home and expect you to stay there?" Perry asked. He truly wasn't surprised that Lois had made it in at all. She rarely missed days because of illness, being the sort to decide that she really didn't feel that bad even with a runny nose and a chest-deep cough. He'd been hoping she'd have a little more common sense this time.

Lois shrugged. "Don't hold your breath. Anyways, I really just came to get my phone and my notes, before I noticed your little pow-wow."

"I could have gotten them sent to you." Perry said.

"Not as much fun." Lois said, rubbing her injured arm. It would stay in the cast until at least Christmas time.

Clark raised an eyebrow. "It was _fun_ to come all this way when you look like a repurposed zombie?"

"Never underestimate the conviction of a repurposed zombie." the dark-haired woman replied, nodding sagely. Having someone send the notes and her phone to her would have been a waste of her valuable time. Far better to make the trek to the _Planet_ herself. It let her keep an ear to the ground.

"Your phone is in your desk. Go home, Lois." Perry ordered.

"In a minute. I want to know if you're thinking about assigning the Gigante story. Because now it's really a story and I still want it." she said.

"I never picked it up in the first place." the editor-in-chief announced.

"Wha _-_ \- Perry!" Lois snapped, appalled that he would dare ignore something so important.

"There's a more important story to cover." Perry said.

"Oh, this _-_ \- this _-_ -" Lois made a few gestures to the front page picture of the _Metro Eagle_. "This guy? Flying man? What are they calling him?" she asked, looking between Perry and Clark.

"Nothing, so far." Perry replied. "There's a good story here, Lois. And I want you on it, as soon as you feel up to it."

"Oh god no." Lois rolled her eyes dramatically. "I am not wasting my time on this flying man angel dribble, even if he did rescue me. I've still got the mafia queen evil plot story. There's research to be done, follow-ups to be had. It's my story and I'm seeing it through to the end. For god's sake, I've got legit proof that Sofia Gigante has teamed up with Agent Fuckwad Trask! We've got a proper story of the century with internal corruption in the government that we can expose to the air like an open sore and a mafia plot to turn Metropolis into Gotham and you're putting us all after some muscle-bound Adonis in a cape?"

"The muscle-bound Adonis in a cape who saved you from certain death and the city from semi-speculated destruction is safer than the muscle-bound mafia queen who's likely still got her sights on you." Perry said with an enormous amount of patience.

"She wants me on her side, meaning there's something she wants me to spin around to look appealing, which means it's not palatable at all." Lois pointed out. As her mother had once told her, _'if someone tries to kill you in the course of the investigation or otherwise tries to convert you, you're probably on the right track'_. "And I'm going to find out what it is. That woman has enough shit on her to stain her brown, but I want to shove her into the manure pile once and for all. If I can take Agent Trask down with her, all the better."

"I think that would be a bad idea." Clark said, speaking up for the first time. "I've had to deal with Trask before. He's unpleasant and _-_ -"

"Great, I can get a statement from you on that. You can be a source. You can tell me exactly what happened in Smallville when he rolled into town with his goon squad. I've been meaning to pick your brain. Agent Stoolie Canary went into police protection, so he's not much of an option anymore." Lois said, waving a hand grandly. "Besides, I _know_ he's unpleasant. What would I do without you around to tell me that Trask is very unpleasant?"

"No need to be sarcastic, Ms. Lane." Clark said quietly. He was going to chalk this one up to the fact that Lois wasn't taking her prescribed painkillers and was therefore quite grumpy right now.

"And it's a fact we all know. Keeping the story would just mean ramming it down their throats." Perry reasoned. "After what happened Tuesday, people won't want to read about some government agent or mafia queen, no matter how shady they're being. They'll _want_ the man in the cape."

" **I** don't want the man in the cape." Lois said, shaking her head. "And I can't be the only one. This Gigante story is big. It's _huge_ , Perry. All the way up to through government big. Trask is a sexist asshole who doesn't work with women and Sofia Gigante is the last mafia threat in Metropolis in addition to being Carmine Falcone's daughter and they're conspiring with an Army general to fuck Metropolis right through its prostate to make it Gotham two point oh. They tried to get me in on the plan. _Me_! I'm not going to let the _News_ get their hands on this one and definitely **not** the _Star_."

"And the man in the cape is an even _bigger_ story, Lois. You can't deny that." Perry said, shaking his head in disbelief. He had been in this business far long enough to know what the next big thing was and for someone to come down out of the sky after appearing to save Metropolis... That was superhero big and Perry was not about to let it slip right through his fingers. "I really want you on this. You're rapidly becoming one of my best reporters and this could be just the thing that puts you back on your game."

"I'm already **on** my game, chief, and I don't need to write about a muscle-bound Adonis, whether he saved my life or not." Lois assured him. "Gigante story or nothing at all."

Her scowl was strong and potent, but Perry was not about to be outdone. He leveled a very flat stare at her. It could have been propped up like a wall. It was the flat stare Perry utilized when he absolutely did not want to hear any arguments to the contrary. It had been getting plenty of airing since Lois had come on board and he had fine-tuned it.

"Lois, the other day you were flown up two miles into the air by a metahuman and nearly dropped. A metahuman that was likely working for Trask. Now I've met this bastard too, remember _-_ -"

Lois did a double-take until she remembered that Perry had also been in Smallville when the agent had come knocking around for any signs of aliens amid a meteor shower, and realized that he and Clark had gotten the same view of the man.

"I know he had been implicated in murders, but he walks without being formally charged with anything. That means he has very powerful friends in very high places who can make pesky little murder charges disappear." the editor went on. "Chances are, you painted a target on your back and now everyone who has anything invested in Trask's alien nonsense is going to be keeping their eye on you. Keeping you away from anything to do with Trask or Gigante means you don't fall off from two miles up again without anyone to save you. What makes you think I'm crazy enough to let you through yourself back into the line of fire?"

Lois crossed her arms and replied: "Because you're Percival Wade White."

"Oh god, Lois..." Perry groaned, reeling away from his full name and the embarrassment that came with it.

"You're the Percival Wade White who exposed the Aryan Brotherhood and saved a man's life. The reporter who used his pen like a sword and ripped apart police corruption. The man who dragged scams and fraud to the center stage alongside Lionel Luthor. Sure, he got off, but you still cornered the slippery bastard and that was more than anyone else managed." Lois said. She had always looked up to those accomplishments. They were inspiring. "You're the man I've spent the last eight or nine years admiring because you wouldn't back off a story even when your life was on the line."

"Geez, Lois..." Perry was rubbing his neck, pink in the cheeks and fighting a smile.

Clark couldn't tell if Lois was honestly trying to flatter the editor or just play him like a bell by putting his accomplishments back in his face and citing one of her reasons for getting into this business in the first place. Either way, she would probably get her desired end result. She was hitting all the right notes, if Perry's expression was any measure.

At the same time, though, he looked really exasperated, like he couldn't believe Lois was putting all this back in his face like that.

Perry rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Christ, the mob's involved in this one. Maybe the government too." he said. It was the only argument he was certain of and by god he was going to make it compelling! "I don't want to see you get killed because of your own stubbornness. I don't want to have to call your family and tell them they need to plan your funeral. I don't want to put your obit in the paper."

"We're also not supposed to lie to people." Lois said. "We're the reporters. People will read about what we tell them is important. We shouldn't lie to them."

Perry espoused the truth and that was the whole of it. People had such faith in the news and the people who reported it that it might never occur to them that the headline on the front page wasn't actually that important.

And that was where she had backed the editor into a corner.

"So, chief. What's it gonna be?" Lois prompted, sensing that her possible victory was at hand. "You've got two dozen people on this flying man. You don't need _me_ , specifically."

"Alright, alright!" Perry flapped his hands. "Stick with Gigante and Trask if it soothes your jimmies, but christ Lois! It's a dead end; I'm just saying. Gigante hasn't been charged for anything since Berkowitz and nothing is going to stick to Trask. Can I at least get your opinion on the flying man? It was your butt that was publicly saved."

"A statement, you mean?" Lois corrected. "Sure, I can play ball with that."

She picked up the _Metro Eagle_ to look at the picture on their front page. It was a very good photo, captured in a moment of stillness outside the facade of the Metropolis General Hospital. The _Metro Eagle_ had better printers for their photography, it had to be said.

"Nice ass." she said appreciatively, admiring the visible curve under the cape.

"Eh-Excuse me?" Clark spluttered in complete shock.

"I said 'S'. That 'S' there." Lois pointed to the pentagonal shield, clearly visible in the photo. Clark didn't recall the picture being taken, though he had been in a hurry to bugger out before too many more people saw him (something that he had totally failed at, by the way). It wasn't hard to miss a camera lens when you weren't looking for one.

"Look at this guy. He's strong, he flies, he's fast, he's incredibly durable and I bet he's bullet-proof too. He's the Nietzschean ideal all wrapped up in a red cape." she went on. "The _ubermensch_. The Super-Man."

"Super-man?" Clark repeated, not sure if he should be bewildered or flattered. Or maybe frightened. It wasn't the most humble name. Certainly not one he'd give to himself, that was for sure. 'Super-man' had the unsettling implication that he was superior to humans. He was, if he was being honest, but he only considered it in the physical terms.

"Hey, I like it!" Perry declared. He held his hands up like he was framing something. "Superman! It's bold, it's catchy, it sticks with you. The kind of name that looks great splashed across three columns! Make it four."

Lois frowned. "There isn't even a rough draft yet."

"That's why I need someone to get an interview with him." Perry said. He looked primarily at Lois when he said this. He had nothing against Clark, but the kid was still way too green and good interviews could be tricky. He needed more experience before he was ready to start splashing in that end of the pool.

Lois raised her hands. "Seriously chief, don't look at me. I already said 'no.'" she reminded him.

"Look, we need the real story and we need it from the horse's mouth. I put two dozen on this because with that many, we might stand a chance at narrowing down where to look. But I need someone to go in for the kill while we've got him surrounded." the editor explained.

Clark ignored the flutter of nerves and didn't tug on his collar.

Lois made a face. "I'm your hit-man? Is that what you think of me?"

"You're the right combination of hard-hitting and the soft touch." Perry told her. "I don't find many reporters who can ask the right questions and not sound like they're pushing."

Lois snorted. "Oh, I know some people who would dispute that." she grumbled. Not just 'some'. She had a list at least twenty names long and all of them had something to hide.

"You do come on strong sometimes." the editor conceded. Her soft touch left a little something to be desired. She was much better with the hammer. He sighed. "Well, if not you, then who do you recommend in your place?"

The dark-haired woman pondered a moment. "Julian Nash. He's a few years ahead of me _-_ -"

"I know him." Perry interrupted, waving a hand. It wasn't a bad choice. Julian Nash had been interviewing politicians and other bigwigs for a few years now. He was good, but he didn't seem like the right type of person to interview a might-be superhero.

"Now if you're serious about sticking to the other story, take Kent with you." he added. "I'll feel better with him watching your back. And he's had experience with the bastard."

Lois sighed. "You drive a hard bargain, Perry."

"It's the best you'll get from me." the editor said. He looked at Clark. "Kent, I know it's asking a lot, but you think you can manage it?"

"Of course, no problem." Clark assured him. He was very nearly finished with his most recent article anyways _-_ \- he just needed to proof-read it before sending it to the editing desk.

"And take Lois home, would you?"

"Hey! I don't need a babysitter!" Lois snapped. "I got here all right, didn't I?"

"Lois, I'm not arguing this one." Perry said, giving her the flat stare. "I don't care if you got here in one piece. Kent is walking you home. Is. That. Clear?"

"Fine, fine, fine." Lois heaved another sigh and tossed the _Metro Eagle_ back on the table. "Stay off my heels, Smallville, or I'll kick you in the shins." she instructed. She left the conference room with her hands on her hips. Perry shot Clark an apologetic, but grateful look.

A few minutes later, they were stepping out in the brittle cold of Metropolis's winter. It was just barely mid-morning and there weren't many people out and about right now. Those who braved the cold dashed quickly down the sidewalks to their destination. There was an icy wind coming off the lake.

"Where to, Ms. Lane?" Clark asked, tugging his hat a little lower over his head.

"I usually take the bus." Lois replied. She peered up and down the street with a sense of vague confusion, like she wasn't entirely sure of her bearings. She shook her head. "Sorry. Fleischer Boulevard train station, the south-bound F-line. It's kind of a walk from here, so I usually take the bus. This way."

They made it to the end of the block before Lois spoke up.

"Say, Smallville. What do you think about this angel flying man business?" she asked.

"Hmm..." Clark had to think for a moment. He knew exactly what he thought about it, but he had scramble up an acceptable response. "I don't believe in angels, not really. My parents weren't the church-going type, so I wasn't either... I guess there's an afterlife, maybe? Of some kind? A higher power? Sometimes, things just work out too well to be coincidences... I guess I don't really have an opinion."

"On what, angels or flying men?"

"Angels."

Smallville had grown out of the necessity of transporting produce and cattle and trading along the Santa Fe Trail, rather than a pastor erecting a church for his flock. Religion had come to Smallville later, but by then, the residents had gotten the soil of the earth under their fingernails. Clark's parents and many of the long-standing residents subscribed to just being good neighbors and that things would work out if you applied time, patience and effort in proportioned amounts.

"So you think it's just a flying man?" Lois prompted.

Clark shrugged. "I didn't see what happened." he lied. "But the _ubermensch_? Isn't that implying a little too much about this guy?"

Lois peered up at him. "What do you know about the _ubermensch_ , Smallville? Have you even read Nietzsche?"

"Yes, my senior year English teacher was very big on it. I've read 'Thus Spoke Zarathustra'. I read it a few times more for fun." Clark nodded. "I'm saying that by comparing this flying man so directly to the idea of the _ubermensch_ , you've implied that he is, in a way, the new God. The old God is dead, so a super man rises to create the new values for people to live up to. And what if they're bad values? What if this guy isn't the best person? I just think it's premature to start calling him 'Superman'."

Part of Lois was relieved that to meet someone who actually understood the _ubermensch_ concept, while the rest of her pondered over Clark's take on the matter. It was true that in the last few decades, the world had been somewhat lacking in strong moral values. It seemed like they had fizzled out with the end of World War II, when their favorite heroes had been become embroiled in the shadier aspects of the Cold War. Or had been forced to step down from their hero work due to government actions. The ones still active had stopped making national headlines. The Flash, for example, had limited his activities to the Keystone-Central Metropolitan area, sticking close to home before he had retired so completely that there were rumors going around about his death.

And the new guy in Central, Zoom the Saffron Streak, well...

To put it simply, three-quarters of the city was agitating for him to step the fuck off.

"Well, it's either him or Lex Luthor and I'll take the lesser evil, thank you." Lois announced. She was almost out of fingers for the number of times Luthor had declared himself, directly or otherwise, the new ideal. The new breed of man.

"You still didn't answer my question, though." she added, sending Clark half a glare over her shoulder. "If you don't think the flying man's an angel, then what d'you think he is?"

"Uh, alien?" Clark suggested, trying to sound as though he thought the idea was completely impossible.

Lois looked skeptical. "One who looks **that** human? Give me a break, Smallville."

"Yeah, you're right. I suppose an alien would look more- _alien_." Clark said, faking agreement. A little nervous laugh escaped him. _I've got to get her off this topic._ "Again, I didn't really see him- or it. Or whatever."

"I'm leaning more towards meta, personally." the dark-haired woman said. "Flight and strength- He had to be really strong to carry me up two miles. Pretty much impervious to the cold. Dr. Essex acted like they knew each other, so I imagine they had the same set of powers. Super-human qualities if I've ever seen them. Like Wonder Woman. And stuff like that... Well, you just don't see that much anymore. I think this guy's gonna be easy to find. You know, if **I** was looking for him."

 _I'll have to make sure I'm covering my tracks very well, if I do this again._ Clark thought uneasily. _She'll probably poke around. Just out of curiosity._

Perry was right about one thing. If anyone was going to figure out "Superman", it would probably be Lois Lane. But if Clark did go forward with a superhero thing, he wanted to try for something resembling a normal life. If comics had taught him anything, maintaining a normal life also meant not letting anyone in on the secret identity. There had to be a line where the hero-stuff couldn't invade the everyday stuff. Clark still liked the idea of his privacy.

Lois couldn't be allowed to find out, even just casually.

"Why do you think he'll be easy to find?" Clark wondered.

"Guy like that can't hide forever." Lois said simply. "By the way, what did Perry put you on?"

"Oh, he's got me following Ms. Merlo's contribution to the urban renewal in West River."

Lois made a face. "Better you than me." she muttered. "He couldn't give you something more exciting? Dealing with Ms. Merlo is like talking to a lizard. Everything looks fine until she licks her eyeball."

"Someone has to write these articles, Ms. Lane." Clark said.

"Still, ugh." Lois shuddered. Reporting on the civic stuff and Ms. Merlo, important though they were, threatened to put her to sleep. Perry claimed that her first assignment had given her a taste for danger and had turned her into a crusader for uncovering all the ills in Metropolis and that he regretted that very moment. He always said it so dramatically that she couldn't take him seriously.

"Tell you what, Smallville. The next LexCorp thing I have, you can tag along. You need to meet His Majestic Chrome Dome, King of the Follically Challenged, Lex Luthor." she offered.

It was a positively generous offer, by her standards. LexCorp was her beat and she didn't give it up easily. Just sharing it was monumental. But Clark was a good guy and frankly, he needed to understand the truth about Lex Luthor before he started thinking the business man was actually a good guy.

"By the way, thank you for the flowers. They were lovely." she added before he could say anything. He had bought her a nice bouquet of yellow roses before walking her home Tuesday.

"Oh, it was no problem." Clark cleared his throat, a warm feeling blossoming in his chest.

"I need to buy you a cookie."

"You don't need to."

"No, I really think I should. It'll be a big one. Six inches across. Chocolate chips the size of your head. C'mon, there's a nice little bakery just around this corner here." Lois grabbed a handful of Clark's coat and dragged him down the sidewalk. "Pick up your feet! Don't make me do all the work here!"

"I'm coming, Ms. Lane, I'm coming."

Even with all the excitement surrounding his truly dramatic rescue, there was one thing that Clark couldn't ignore.

For the first time in a very long time, he had used his powers openly in front of hundreds of people. And thousands more had seen it on the news. Lois's video was spreading across the internet just as quickly as his rescue of the little girl that first Friday. But the comments were different. No longer was he just a "lucky dude". The word 'hero' had gotten about in relatively short order.

He had saved Lois just as he had intended. He had saved her because he didn't have to hide his powers. The cape, the strange armor-like suit that the A.I.s had provided him with that morning (wired with sensors intended to monitor his vitals and energy output and such so the A.I.s could begin to understand how his powers worked) had allowed him to step out in a much more open manner than he ever would have. By the way things looked, no one had connected him, the Flying Man, to Clark Kent of yesterday.

Not even Lois.

(His parents didn't count.)

It was strange that Lois hadn't recognized him. Of all people, he would have thought she would be the first. For the past five weeks, they had spent nearly every waking moment in each other's company, usually face to face. And when he really thought about it, the disguise was paper-thin. The glasses changed the shape of his face and the color of his eyes. He made sure to hunch and slouch a little so he didn't stand out as much.

Did it really make that much of a difference to take off the glasses and stand tall?

He could be a superhero! In the fashion of the Justice Society! It had been nearly two decades since there had last been a superhero in the world (really, Zoom **did not** count). Clark briefly entertained a grand vision of himself doing heroic things, but his thoughts were brought back to earth with an unpleasant bump.

He _could_ be a superhero, but the real question was: _should_ he be?

The world had changed since the days of the Justice Society. Since the days when Jay Garrick the Flash and Alan Scott the Green Lantern and the Sandman and Hourman had stood tall among the giants of their time. When the mighty Wonder Woman had strode across the battlefields of Europe with sword and shield and meteor hammer lasso, her footsteps falling with the wrath of the Greek gods. When the Justice Society had held a certain, almost tangible grip on the values of the American populace.

Back when having super-powers was something to be admired and celebrated, not feared and hated so viciously.

Some people looked back on that time and called it a simpler one, a better one. When there was a strong sense of community and national spirit. Back then, things had been rather more black and white compared to today. Everyone had known who the enemy was and they had united against the Nazi regime.

The world had changed and not necessarily changed for the better.

What business did he have to really run with the Nietzschean Super Man idea? To be the one who created a new system of values for a person to live by? Because he would do it, however accidentally. The more he appeared, the more often he was seen... Hell, all he had to do was _exist_ and the most impressionable members of society would try to emulate him.

Or worse, they would call _him_ the enemy.

That was what was happening down in Central and Keystone. The news had been all over Zoom the Saffron Streak after his first appearance, three years ago this past July. It had been a lot of praising at first; Keystone had a proud history of speedsters and a general feeling of fondness towards them. So when he had first appeared prominently on the news, even Smallville had experienced a sense of distant excitement towards what seemed to be the first reappearance of the superheroes.

How exciting to witness it!

But all that interest and intrigue and excitement had gotten sucked away and turned into snarking and ill-will and anger out the wazoo when it became obvious that Zoom was really a great big bag of dicks. He had repeatedly failed to live up to any basic expectation and continued to do so. He was rude to reporters, callous towards the people he rescued, sneered more than he smiled, and, in many people's opinion, shat all over Jay Garrick's legacy. Whatever heroic image he had started out with had been tainted by own behavior and further stained by the vitriol people threw at him. If the speedster made even one positive headline, it was because he hadn't shown up to the scene of the disaster.

Zoom didn't seem aware of his rotting reputation either. Unaware that people _hated_ him. They said that he had no business trying to be anyone's hero.

And what if they thought the same about Superman?

* * *

-0-


	26. Nowhere Kids

This is what I call a "chess piece" chapter, since it's mostly about maneuvering everything into position for endgame.

It introduces a lot of future plot threads for the sake of seeding them in now so I won't have to later. It dives a little into the depths of the Superman mythos, so this chapter is mostly full of minor characters. I'm working on a long-term plot arc that won't actually wrap to a full conclusion until Stories 8 and 9. Bear with me folks.

Story 3 is finished. Completed. It's over. I don't have to worry about it for a while. Yay.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Six: Nowhere Kids

Try enthusiastically one might, but there was no way someone could get the actual measure of the city-wide reaction. For some people, their first instinct was not to jump online and Chirp about their opinion.

Even with thirty years of experience and a nose for gauging the mood of the people, Perry White couldn't have predicted the full effects the event of November 7th.

It started small, but shit-quakes always did.

There had never been a superhero in Metropolis before.

They seemed to produce quite a few of them, though. Though he had operated around New York City, Alan Scott the Green Lantern had been born in Metropolis. So had Commander Steel of the All-Star Squadron and he had returned to the city upon retirement. Guardian from the mid-eighties had admitted to growing up in the Suicide Slums. Prior to their disappearance in 1929, superhero duo TNT and Dyna-mite of the Seven Soldiers had talked quite a bit about the city and had admitted to being **from** there, though they refused to confirm whether or not they had been born there.

But whatever the reason was, Metropolis just wasn't a city with a hero of its own.

And that had been just fine, the criminal element had all agreed. They didn't need some lousy do-gooder poking his over-large nose into their business and wrecking their shit and their fundamental rights. They didn't need fleet-footed speedsters or hard-light projections or super-strong individuals with flight making a day to day living harder than it already was. The police were bad enough all by themselves, the persistent and incorruptible buggers that they were. They couldn't even be bribed because the city just doubled the amount as long as the bribed officer spilled the beans.

Imagine if they had a superhero on their side!

Unfortunately for the criminal element, the days of imagining that just might be over. The days of that being a _reality_ just might be upon them.

And they got _nervous_.

It didn't manifest in any ways that made the headlines, though (not yet). Quite the opposite, they ducked their heads, lowered their profiles, and gathered in their favorite watering holes to worry over the impact this would have on their operations. The cautious wouldn't move until they were sure of which way the wind was blowing, even if that meant sacrificing a few loyal pawns to the lion that was the Met. P.D.

"So I gots five of my own suppliers cuttin' me loose! They says'n with this superhero 'round, they don't wanna be lettin' the product get busted!" Joey Toledo, drug dealer, complained. "Man, I got unsatisfied customers gettin' shirty with me 'cause I don'ts have the goods to give an' they be pissin' like it's my fault! An' you know what's worse 'bout it? By the time they all get themselves sorted an' product hits the streets again, I ain't gonna have too many customers left!"

He paused to gulp his beer, feeling a little more motivated to complain with the fire going down to his belly.

"It's like they don'ts know I gotta pay my dues, keep my boys and girls piped up! I can't deliver if I ain't got anything to deliver! They can't dry up the lines like that an' still expect there to be customers left in a week!"

Across from him at the table, Frank "Two-Bits" Tanner nodded in sympathy.

"I feel it, m'man, I feel it hard. My kids, y'know, they been freakin' their shit all across the Slums. Had Cut-Mouth and his crew go off at me the other day. They be itchin' for a fight." he said, shaking his head at the impatience of a misspent youth. "If it's gonna be this bad for business, hope it's just short-term or we gonna be lookin' at serious losses."

"Hope it blows over b'fore the end of the month..." Joey mumbled.

Both of them slumped a little lower over their bottles of beer, all too aware that this might not pass the city by in a month. They were both old enough to recall the last days of the age of superheroes. To recall the split between the people who wanted the heroes to retire, and those who didn't. How each side had vehemently laid out their arguments on either why superheroes were good for society, or why they weren't.

No matter how this was going to play out, one thing was for certain. Superheroes were never going to vanish from the world entirely.

Joey had been dealing drugs for most of his life. Mired in poverty as a child and desperate to make a little bit of money to help his parents keep a roof over their heads, he'd started dealing pre-rolled marijuana joints to younger teens. Though a day's profits were split between himself and the supplier, he'd made enough money in a week to put a dent in the debt they'd owed to their landlord. By the time he had turned eighteen, Joey had seen no sense in looking for a "legitimate" job when a few grams of crack went for a hundred bucks or more.

Frank had started off in a similar, but not as bad situation. Living low on the poverty line and searching for a way out. Employment had been gainful enough working as a contact for a jewel fence, but for a while, he had tried to go straight. He had found some slightly more legitimate employment running numbers for a mob restaurant. He had even become a husband and father. But his employers weren't something the wife could just reconcile with and situations has justifiably led to her fearing for the safety of their children and her younger brother who had lived with them.

For Frank, divorce was coming. But he was breathing a sigh of relief and meeting the court dates with a light heart. It wasn't that he didn't love Connie, it wasn't that he didn't think Alvin and Joanna weren't the cutest little buttons in the world, it wasn't that he didn't think Jefferson was a damn good kid, but if there was a time to accept that he wasn't good material as a husband or a father or a brother-in-law, it was now. They deserved someone better than him.

Joey and Frank had both rolled with the same gang in their youth (the Cold Crusaders), placed in the same crew, and they had remained friendly enough to this day to meet at their favorite watering hole to have a beer, share a basket of chicken wings, and compare woes.

"Still." Frank started, biting into a wing thoughtfully. "Might not hurt to lay low for a little while. Get out on the lake for the night. Go ice fishin' or somethin'."

Joey's eyes narrowed. Frank still worked with the Cold Crusaders as a crew contact. He knew the gang's movements better than anyone on the outside and if he thought laying low was a good idea, then something was probably going to happen.

"Why?" the dealer asked.

"'Cause it ain't just Cut-Mouth an' his crew scratchin' for a fight. It's the other crews too." Frank answered, looking serious. "They been knockin' over doors an' taggin' in the Kings' territory, know what I'm sayin'?"

"They gonna bust up?"

"Tonight, if I'm readin' the vibes right."

Of the five gangs that walked the streets of the Suicide Slums, two were the most dangerous. The Cold Crusaders and the Suicide Kings, who often worked at odds and wound up on opposite sides of the line so often the rivalry was practically traditional. These two gangs threw themselves at each other with a bloodthirsty viciousness that was all over the streets by the end of the night. When they fought, it didn't really matter who got in the way. More than one civilian had been taken down in the middle of one of their block-busting battles.

The Suicide Kings and the Cold Crusaders didn't really need an excuse to start a fight, but the idea of a new superhero was good enough for them.

And when those two gangs met with knives and guns, the entirety of the Suicide Slums would feel the vibrations for days to come.

"Y'know, I gots some friends I can drop in on, way across of the other side of St. Martin's." Joey commented. "Think they's gonna be puttin' up some poker tonight with the lads. You interested?"

"Nah I wish, but I gotta take care of other plans." Frank said, shaking his head, albeit regretfully. It had been some months since he'd last gone a few rounds of poker with Joey's other friends and they were sharp players, all of them. "I gotta swing up to Metrodale an' make my usuals."

"Ah, Her Majesty's gots you on the leash tonight. My condolences." Joey said gravely, tipping his glass of beer slightly in Frank's direction, as though he was drinking to the black man's continued good health.

They laughed heartily and comradely and clinked their glasses together in good humor. They might have been a pair of low men on the totem pole, grudgingly beholden to the whims and orders of the others, but they knew the benefit of sticking together.

Guys like them needed to stick together in a world slowly going mad.

The watering hole was the quay-side bar, the Queen of Broken Hearts, on the western-most side of the Slums. Only forty years earlier, it would have been the primary source of meals and news and entertainment for the longshoremen who had worked the wharfs, moving the processed copper from the backs of trucks to the bellies of cargo ships. That particular golden age was long behind the establishment and now she truly was a queen of broken hearts.

One day in the future, Bibbo Bibbowski would buy the deed from its aging owner with the proceeds of a winning lottery ticket and re-christen it the Ace O' Clubs, but that day was a ways to come yet.

For today, Bibbo sat at the bar with a mug of something bitter and sharp, and listened to the conversation between Joey and Frank. They weren't the only ones in the bar having aneurysms over the appearance of a possible superhero, but they were the only two who really seemed to have something to say.

News that the Suicide Kings and the Cold Crusaders were going to go at each other tonight at the earliest was concerning, to say that least. They wouldn't start busting heads until after nightfall, however. It was a small consolation, but it would give Bibbo more than enough time to get the word out.

When the conversation between Joey and Frank drifted off into less relevant topics, Bibbo stopped listening and redirected his attention to his phone, where he pulled up the video of the "Superman" sighting on Broadway street. "Superman" was what the city were starting to call him. Or, that's what Lois Lane was starting to call him and everyone else was picking up on it because half of Metropolis read her weekly blog.

Bibbo kept the sound muted because he didn't want to hear about dead children again and just watched the video play out. The big black man who looked like he was twice the size of the Superman slammed the latter into the ground over and over. The impacts had actually shaken the street, as the camera wobbled for more reasons than just the jittery nerves of the person holding it. In the background, the cars parked on the curb jumped a little on their wheels.

Bibbo didn't want to imagine how strong or how invulnerable a person had to be to make two-ton cars do that.

The boat captain winced every time the Superman hit the ground and the ninth time watching the video didn't change that. He had been a boxer back in the day, until a broken hand had put him out of the ring for good. He still had the fighting form, winning more bar brawls than he lost. He just couldn't go five rounds anymore with young dumb punks who thought they were the hot shit.

Not that he needed five rounds anymore. Thirty seconds was more than ample to hand their asses to them.

All the same, Bibbo knew very well that hitting the mat always hurt. Hitting concrete hurt a lot more. And no matter how indestructible a body was, being driven into concrete like that several times was going to leave a mark.

Still, it was impressive that the Superman was able to get back up in spite of the pounding his shoulders had received. The lasers from his eyes had helped in that regard. But Bibbo knew an amateur when he saw one. This was someone who hadn't gone in looking for a fight and had gotten one anyways and his ass would have been served to him on a platter if he hadn't taken advantage of a split-second to get the upper hand.

 _He's strong, tough._ The boat captain thought admiringly, pausing the video to examine the crater that was still in the street even today. _Gotta admire a guy who can take a beating like that and get back up._

"Bibbowski, 'nother round?" croaked Marv, the elderly proprietor, as he creaked past on the other side of the bar. He was well into his seventies, arthritis slowly crippling his joints. A doctor had prescribed him painkillers and as much daily activity as he could handle to try and stay limber, but he was slowing down a little more every day.

"Naw, gots work to do m'self." Bibbo said, ending the video and putting his phone in his pocket. He pushed the empty glass to where Marv could scoop it up easy and then laid down a five. "Keep the change."

"Take care o' youself out there, Bibbowski. Startin' to get dodgy what with all that superhero nonsense." the elderly man advised, creaking forward to retrieve the glass and the bill.

Bibbo saluted with three fingers and then got off his stool at the bar. He passed by Joey and Frank on his way to the door, his permanently squinted eye giving them a cursory glance. They had slipped into conversation about their weekend plans, once all was said and done, and it didn't seem they'd be getting back to anything of importance.

But they had said what Bibbo needed to hear, the information he needed to pass on.

People talked around him because they didn't think he was listening.

But he was. He always was.

Bibbo Bibbowski was a snitch and proud of it. The people of the Suicide Slums really didn't have anyone looking out for them; the police were stretched thin around these parts (maybe if the Superman stuck around, that would change). The Slums was a different sort of animal compared to the West River and Metrodale. What set it apart from those neighborhoods was hard to gauge; the Slums looked no less dilapidated and forlorn than the other two. Bibbo always attributed it to the circumstances regarding the birth of the Slums. If you looked hard enough at some of the paving stones, you could still see the old spatters of dried blood. If you stood in the right spot when the sun was at high summer noon and the day was hot, you could still faintly smell something that was like day-old spoiled meat.

In short, the neighborhood was small and badly looked after. The police avoided it for the most part, likening it to an overgrown garden that they could get lost in too easily. Officer Harper tried his best, but he was all by himself and he could only do so much.

So Bibbo had taken it upon himself to do his part for the Slums. He covertly spied on the movements of every criminal syndicate and gang in the Slums and stayed abreast of what they were doing. He turned that information over to the street kids who didn't belong to any of the gangs and they, in turn, warned the good normal folk of the neighborhood of whatever was about to go down.

Half the things he heard also went straight to Lois Lane. She liked staying aware of the movements of her old crew.

Tucking his coat around him against the cold, Bibbo headed up the quay, turning north towards the unfinished Bronze Bridge. Proposed about fifteen years earlier to connect the Slums directly to St. Martin's Island, the bridge had come into existence after a series of complaints that the people who commuted to and from St. Martin's had to double around across the Schuster Bridge and they were always getting caught in the traffic snarl. At the time, the Schuster Bridge had been the _only_ bridge connecting New Troy to St. Martin's. To this day, it still was.

The project had been proposed, outlined, and accepted within a matter of weeks. The anchors towers had been constructed on either side of the strait and they had started work on the eastern span when several someones disappeared with the entire budget, leaving the project to founder and sink, and nobody looked twice at it ever again.

The little bit of the Bronze Bridge that had been completed was still there, jutting out across the water in a manner most described as forlorn and searching. It had been the centerpiece of a Pulitzer-winning photo aptly titled "The Bridge to Nowhere". It had become the symbol for Metropolis's urban degradation and something of a rallying point for those trying to reverse it.

Over time, its presence had given rise to the Bronze Bridge Brothers, the smallest of the gangs in the Suicide Slums. But they were not a fighting gang. No, the members of Triple B (the short-hand version of their name) had banded together for mutual protection. They were the lost and forgotten children of the Slums, who had found each other amid a wash of poverty and an absence of hope. They were the children who were overlooked by the Cold Crusaders and the Suicide Kings because they weren't ruthless or violent enough. Too weak, too small, too afraid. The ones not even worth paying attention to.

They were the kids that Bibbo could count on the most. When the small and the weak banded together, they knew how to become strong. Strong enough to protect those who otherwise wouldn't have someone to fall back on.

That what why Triple B existed.

A few streets away from the unfinished bridge, Bibbo ducked into the bodega tucked into the corner and bought several packs of gum before he continued on his way. When the bridge had failed, someone with a vision had tried to build something under the Guastavino tile vaults, perhaps a market to match the one then being constructed under the Queensboro in Manhattan. The walls had gone up and then inspiration or funding had run out. Whatever the reason, the space lay abandoned to this day, so Triple B had promptly made use of it as their base.

Bibbo sucked in his gut as much as he could and squeezed his way through the narrow gap in the wooden fence that had been constructed around the bridge for the purpose of keeping the vagabonds out. It was always a tight fit, but there wasn't a moment yet where he had gotten stuck. Triple B had their own ways in and out, but all those ways were too small for the man.

He straightened his coat and went up to what would have been the main entrance.

"Knock knock!" he called, thumping his knuckles on the wood.

There was a murmur of voices from the other side of the make-shift door that stopped as soon as he spoke. Bibbo knew from experience that the kids were scattering right now, diving into their designated hiding places. Many of the kids in Triple B sought protection _from_ adults. The majority of those adults were often the parents, but just to be sure, they avoided pretty much anyone over the age of eighteen.

Being a little over forty with permanent squint in one eye and a burgeoning pot-belly that he needed to do something about, Bibbo was pretty sure he was a nightmare for some of them.

The little squeakers could hide from him if it made them feel safe. He wasn't going to begrudge them for that.

He waited patiently as a knothole rattled and there was a glint of an eye through the small hole. Bibbo smiled as friendly as he could and touched the brim of his cap in greeting. The knothole rattled again and the door opened immediately after. Peering out beside the frame was the face of a boy who was just on the cusp of adolescence, old enough to tip right over the edge of it, yet still young enough that he didn't seem anywhere near to growing up yet. He had always looked like that, for the twenty years that Bibbo had known him.

"Howdy-do Tommy." Bibbo said, holding out the gum packets as a peace offering.

"Bo, you don't have to bribe us with gum every time you come by." Tommy said. He had a look on his face that seemed permanently unimpressed, even despite the smile that stretched across it.

"Eh, it's what's polite-like, y'know." Bibbo said with a shrug.

Tommy accepted the gum from him all the same. The kids under the protection of Triple B didn't get very many nice things in their lives. Never really had the money to buy things for themselves and when they did, they rarely blew that money of junk food and chocolate. Tommy couldn't deny them the treat of gum.

"What's going on?" he asked, because the boat captain never came by without news.

"There's gonna be hot trouble in the old town tonight is what, Tommy. Youse lot better gets everyone indoors b'fore sundown." Bibbo said. "Kings an' Crusaders are pickin' on each other again. They's gonna smash it off by dark."

The way too old twelve-year old rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Of course they're going to smash each other to bits. They do nothin' but smash each other to bits." he grumbled. He was sure that not a month could go by without those two gangs getting in each other's faces and leaving the other bloody. "I'll make sure the word gets spread. Thanks for the heads up, Bo."

"Bibbo." the boat captain corrected, though he wasn't sure why. It never got through. It was just that no one called him 'Bo' anymore and those who still did, he was rather estranged from them.

Bibbo nodded once in a sort of affirmation and Tommy returned it before they went their separate ways. Bibbo squeezed his way back through the fence and Tommy turned around back inside to the cavernous interior of the hide-out. It was dim, illuminated only by what light came in through the high windows covered in grime. One day, Tommy was going to look into getting the electricity hooked up in this place.

Children, some as young as five, started to peer out from their hiding places. The not-twelve-year old spotted his crew leaning out from behind the load-bearing columns with knowing expressions and Tommy nodded minutely at them before he turned to address the rest of Triple B.

"All right, listen up!"

* * *

His full name was Tommy Thompkins and despite how he looked, he wasn't twelve years old. He wasn't entirely sure of his age; there were at least a year and a half there of no coherent memory at all. His first clear impression of the world was talk of the Great War, later to be known as World War I. At some point in the late fifties, he had decided _'Fuck it, I'll go with 1914 as my birth-year.'_

So he was ninety-two and he couldn't exactly tell that to people.

Because he still looked twelve.

Except for Jim, they all did.

Tommy had been among the first of many children to have been birthed from Project M, founded back in 1910. It had been a government-funded program to research and implant meta-powers in human tissue. The research had quickly progressed to growing humans in test tubes, to implant meta-powers while they were still the earliest stages of fetal development.

Though all the science had been spiritedly ahead of its time, Tommy was also among the first of many failures. Project M had been highly ambitious and not all of the technology had existed for the bio-engineers to accomplish what they had set out to do.

Fortunately, he and his test-tube brethren had escaped euthanization, living between various cities for the past ninety years. Since then, they had brought Project M to shut-down, ensuring that no more children would be grown in bottles and engineered into weapons.

Project M had left them with hyper-accelerated cellular regeneration that kept them young and mostly immortal. They could be killed, but it was going to take nothing short of rapid disintegration to pull it off. The implantation of meta-powers had been shaky, at best. Perhaps if they had all grown to full adult maturity, their powers might have been stronger.

Jim Harper was the best example of that. With super-strength and superior senses to augment the healing factor, he was the only member of the first batch to be considered a success. He had grown to a full adult in a matter of months. These days, he was the only one of them who could really hold down a job, so he ensured that his test-tube siblings were cared for.

Tommy led the group, for the most part; Jim couldn't be there all the time. He thought his power might have been tychokinesis (or the manipulation of probability), but in its stunted form, it just looked like he had exceptional good luck.

Roberta Harper, or 'Bobbi' as she preferred, was Jim's gender-flipped clone. Her meta-power was some kind of memory disruption. At most, she could induce temporary confusion. When they had been coming up with code-names, they jokingly decided to call her 'Famous' because no one could really remember her.

Anthony Rodriguez had a propensity for using big words, so he had been dubbed as such. He had eidetic memory and more time on his hands than he rightly knew what to do with. Much of it was spent with his nose buried in articles on the latest advances in _everything_. He had been created out of a genetic soup of Hispanic individuals.

Johnny Gabrielli had a black-hole for a stomach, due to the fact that Project M had tried to stick super-speed in him. His metabolism was heightened, not to the level of the Flash, but he certainly ate a lot more than the rest of them. He could still zip along at a brisk forty miles an hour if he was going flat-out and... Well, they called him 'Gabby' for a reason.

Patrick McGuire would have been a super-strength bruiser to outstrip Jim, if he had matured. It was Jim who had come up with 'Scrapper' whilst trying to lecture him on not starting fights. Too many hot-blooded Irishmen had been a part of his genetic mixture.

Suzi was the only other girl, a combination of Japanese, Chinese, and Korean DNA. She could mimic any voice she heard, regardless of the original gender. She had been the first to get a code-name; Hollywood.

And then Walter Johnson Junior, code-named Flip. He must have had some marine DNA in him, as he could hold his breath for nearly twenty minutes at a time and was a highly capable swimmer. Unlike the others who had come from a genetic soup, he was a direct clone of a Project M scientist, Walter Johnson Senior.

That was what had backfired on Project M and had eventually led to their downfall nearly fifty years later. Walter Sr. and his wife had had no children of their own, not for lack of trying. Medical science hadn't advanced far enough to pinpoint the actual cause of their infertility. But seeing his baby clone had revved his parental instincts into drive and anyways, he had signed on to push the boundaries of science, not be an accessory to the murders of small children. After learning that Subjects B-2 through H-8 were failed experiments and scheduled to be euthanized, Walter Sr. had sacrificed his job and nearly his freedom to release them just hours before their six a.m. death sentence.

They still brought flowers to his grave every year.

Every twenty years, they alternated between the streets of Metropolis to the boroughs of New York city, and to the back-alleys of Gotham in order to prevent anyone from getting too suspicious over the fact that none of them ever aged beyond what a careful application of make-up could grant them. Sometimes they would buy gray-hair wigs and "old man" clothes and carry canes and hobble about and pretend that they were just shrunken old people. Big Words knew more about ageing make-up than any of them and Jim was getting too good at faking his own death.

In ninety years, they had seen it all. They had lived through the Great Depression and watched the second World War through the papers and radios. They had witnessed the rise and the fall of the age of superheroes. In ninety more years, the events that would pass would be nothing they had imagined.

Tommy Thompkins and his brethren didn't consider themselves heroes. The law didn't consider them heroes. But they had organized Triple B for the kids who had nowhere to go. They worked to defuse tensions in the Suicide Slums; tried to make living there a little safer for the people who didn't want to leave or couldn't. They quietly did what they could for Metropolis and its citizens.

They were the Newsboys of Nowhere Street.

* * *

Scrapper usually tried not to let anyone see him smoke. It was a bad habit, though his own healing factor negated long-term damage. But if the moral guardians of the Slums saw what they thought was an eleven-year old puffing a cigarette, they'd raise almighty hell. Addiction was a bit of a devil to shake, but he was working on it.

Running footsteps sounded around the corner and Scrapper reflexively dropped the cigarette, stamping it out as just Suzi and Big Words rounded the corner into the alley where he was. There was no time to try and disperse the stench or the ashes that had littered the ground at his feet. Suzi pulled up short, sniffed the air, and crossed her arms.

"Scrapper! I thought you were quitting!" she accused.

"Damn, I can't up and quit cold turkey!" Scrapper complained. He had tried, but a fifteen-year nicotine addiction didn't die overnight.

"Stop purchasing new packs." Big Words ordered, adjusting his glasses. He looked disappointed. "It should be easier for you to quit if you aren't tempting yourself."

"I tell you like I tell Tommy! I'm workin' on it!" Scrapper insisted, giving the cigarette another stomp.

"Then put your back into it!" Tommy snapped, coming up the other side of the alley with the rest of the Newsboys behind him _-_ \- save for Gabby who was keeping watch further down the street.

"And give me the pack!" he ordered, thrusting out a hand.

"Yeah, yeah..." Scrapper muttered, a tad mutinously, but he dug the nearly brand-new pack of Marble Lights out of his baggy pockets and slapped it into Tommy's outstretched palm. "Why do you take them? You don't even throw them away."

"They're a good bribe." Tommy reminded him, stowing the case in his back pocket. On these mean streets, it was amazing how far a cigarette would go. "Did we get the warnings out?" he asked, looking around at his crew.

"Yep! Everything's locked up, shutters are closed, and everyone's bunked down!" Flip assured him, brandishing a double thumbs-up. "Just in time too, 'cause I think the Kings and Crusaders are on the move."

"Gabby'll tell us." Tommy said. "Did someone warn the Dingbats?"

Almost as soon as the question left his mouth, he predicted the slightly guilty silence and the searching looks that the others passed around, as if saying _'I didn't, did you?'_

"Guys... Really?"

"Ugh, do we actually have to?" Bobbi groaned, throwing up her hands. "It's not like they can't tell when there's gonna be trouble. We don't have to walk on their turf every single time."

"Yeah, they'll be fine without us saying anything!" Scrapper agreed, putting an arm around Bobbi's shoulders in an 'us vs the leader' solidarity. "Anyways, they don't like us. They think we're too _adult_."

"We don't have to put up with that sort of treatment!" Flip complained while Big Words and Suzi nodded furiously.

Tommy tried not to grind his teeth or say anything that would imply the Dingbats were family, since that was never well-received. Good Looks, Krunch, Non-Fat, and Bananas were part of the very last batch of Project M children, and the only four the Newsboys had been able to get out alive. Tommy had tried to make sure they were looked after, but the Dingbats were determined to have none of it. They distrusted adults _-_ \- after their treatment at the hands of Project M, it was hardly a surprise _-_ \- and considered the Newsboys much too adult to be trusted.

There was probably no closing that rift.

"Guys, the Dingbats don't always know when to keep their heads down and you know it." Tommy started reasonably. More aggressive genetics; those four were constantly looking for a fight. "So one of us has to _-_ -"

"They'recomingthey'recoming!"

He was interrupted by Gabby's arrival. The speedster's shoes squeaked on the damp pavement as he nearly toppled to a halt, arms flailing for balance.

"They'recoming! Kingsthatway! Crusadersthatway! They'llmeetinthemiddle!" Gabby said, pointing this way and that up and down the street."Fullbattlionseverysingleoneofthem! Packingheavyandhot! It'sgonnabethefightofthedecade!"

Nine decades of practice meant they understood every word coming out of Gabby's mouth. And there was no getting to the Dingbats now, not if the Crusaders and the Kings were on their way to meet in the middle.

"Up! Now!" Tommy instructed.

They scurried up the fire escape attached to the side of the old apartment building. It would put them thirty feet above the action, but that was plenty enough room. The buildings were usually occupied by squatters if it was occupied by anyone at all. No one liked to live on these blocks if they could help it. Not when the Crusaders and the Kings met so often on the corner of Danger and Nowhere streets.

Settled at the roof ledge, the Newsboys heard the gangs coming before they actually saw them; opposing chants spiraling up from the hordes in low voices. They were punctuated by the bash of steel pipes and rattle of chains in a coordinated display of intimidation. The gangs would do this for a good five minutes, each trying to out-nerve the other before they actually started to attack.

The Suicide Kings marched out of the east, with the bulk of New Troy at their backs. Their singular leader marched at the head of the column with his crew leaders behind him like hulking pillars. They had come out en masse, about two hundred strong.

The Cold Crusaders came up out of the west, with the unfinished structure of the Bronze Bridge in their wake. They were only a little smaller, but even a disparity of fifty individuals could make a difference in the outcome. They had taken different approach to leadership. They had divided the responsibility between five of their most intelligent and strategically-minded, so if they lost a leader, there wouldn't be a mad scramble of power-grabbing. They were a smaller gang, yes, but they were infinitely more stable.

The Suicide Kings danced on the strings of the Gigante crime family.

The Crusaders and the Kings met at the intersection. They stopped at the crosswalks like there was a fence stretching from corner to corner, champing at the proverbial bit and stamping their feet. Their voices rang out at discordant odds, the pipes still bashing, the chains still rattling in opposing beats. The war songs grew louder and louder until they could surely be heard all the way across the city and the Newsboys felt a tension grow in their chests until the noise suddenly cut out, leaving a silence that was just as heavy and ringing.

Impulsively, Big Words grabbed Tommy by the shoulder as though he was steadying himself. A little further down, Suzi looked a bit faint around the edges. There was a sort of edginess, a nervousness swelling through the air like a noxious fog, seeping into every crack and crevice, into every chink in the armor. It was like a controlled panic, the feeling. Where total loss of control was only inches away, if you simply spiraled too far in one direction. The neighborhood had the bad feeling it was gripping sanity with its fingernails.

"Steady on, old beans." Tommy whispered.

For a good ten seconds, the two gangs faced off from opposite crosswalks, the hatred and anger palpable in the wintry air. Then, from the middle of the Kings, there came a crackling noise like electricity and blue-white sparks jumped out from a set of raised hands. The Kings started to shuffle aside, forming a ring around the spark-thrower, a skinny twig of a girl who had the crazy-eyed strung out look of someone who was going sober for the night. She strode out from the middle of the crowd, shaking her arms and rolling her shoulders and dislodging sparks from her sleeves. Her fingers flexed and curled, producing tendrils of electricity that slowly grew in thickness.

"Electricity meta." Bobbi whispered in awed horror. "Oh my stars, they're going to use a meta..."

"This'll be over quick." Scrapper opined.

The girl existed the crowd of her gang-members, the leader giving her a confident, proud look as she passed. The electricity had spiraled up her arms now, the coils twisting around them like snakes. As soon as she was in the intersection, a length of metal cable fell out of each sleeve and into her hands. The electricity jumped up through the cables as she started swinging them around like whips. The Crusaders flinched, but didn't shuffle back, as the first strike landed just shy of the crosswalk.

"Gabby, get Guardian." Tommy instructed.

The speedster frowned. "But Jim said _-_ -"

"I don't care, Gabby. I don't care what Jim said. They're bringing out metahumans. We need Guardian out here _now_." Tommy stressed.

"But he still said _-_ -" Gabby started, not about to disobey Jim's rules, but a teeth-rattling buzz of energy interrupted him and they looked down in time to see a blast of plasma issue from the front of the Crusaders' mob.

Its producer jumped out of anonymity not a second later, his raised fist still glowing with a residue of reddish energy. He pointed to the Kings' electricity meta and though the Newsboys couldn't quite hear what he was saying, it was clear that he was issuing a one-on-one challenge.

Gabby nodded. "Yeah, I'll go get Jim." he said. Then he sped away in a gust of air.

The electricity meta cracked her cable-whips again, her face a savage rictus of delight. The energy blaster charged up another ball of red plasma and they moved to meet each other head on.

* * *

-0-


	27. Metropolis's Guardian

This was a fun chapter to write. Endgame _sort of_ begins here cuz this is when it starts to unravel then pull back together. The pedal is on its way to the floor, folks.

I've also been sucked deeper into the realm of Harry Potter (let's face it, you never actually leave Potter totally behind) and fanfiction has commenced. The ideas have been there for a while. Don't worry, it won't affect updates here because Crucible's already complete. I'm justing putting out a heads up. There might be some Potter-related content by the end of the year, if that's also your jam.

Not just a one-trick pony!

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Metropolis's Guardian

By the following Tuesday, it was apparent that this week was going to follow the pattern of looking absurdly nice outside by being sunny and bright with clear blue skies, only for the unsuspecting to find out that it was still fucking freezing and the snow wasn't going anywhere for a while yet. A chill arctic breeze swept off the Canadian plains and powered across Lake Superior to slam into Metropolis like the fart of a vengeful god.

Winter had come to the city in full.

Lois wore sunglasses and khaki slacks to work.

It had been an obnoxiously long weekend and she had spent too much of it flat on her face after she had decided that no, it wasn't a good idea to substitute generic aspirin for Percocet when two bones in her wrist were fractured. The hospital had sent her another prescription on Monday that did the same pain-blocking job, but left her clear-headed and conscious so she could get back to work on Tuesday. The trek from home to work was not particularly enjoyable since the trains did a marvelous job of rattling her wrist, but at least the cars didn't get stuck on the rails like they sometimes did when eight inches of snow hit the ground overnight.

Stepping out of the elevator on the fifty-seventh floor, Lois yawned a jaw-cracking yawn into her elbow, shaking her head a little in an attempt to dislodge from of the fuzziness from it. Even though the new stuff didn't knock her out, it still left her feeling a little muzzy around the edges.

Nothing some more coffee wouldn't alleviate.

She had barely set foot in the newsroom when Lombarde swooped up beside her in a wash of too much cologne and a faintly lavender colored Henley that he must have thought was blue. Besides that, he also wore a broad, smug grin on his face, like he knew something Lois didn't and was eager to rub her nose in it.

"Morning, Lois!" he said jauntily. "How are you feeling?"

"Lombarde, the first thing I never want to see this close is your face." Lois grumbled, sipping her coffee. "To answer your question, the morning was going all right until you had the gall to show up."

"Aw Lois, how could you resist a good look at my mug? No one has a cleft chin like Lombarde!" the sports columnist said, stroking said chin. He was quite proud of how solid and manly it was.

"And you take cheap shots like Gaston." Lois snarked back. "Now I've had just enough coffee to be patient, but that could wear off any second. What is forcing me to endure your cologne at half past eight in the morning?"

"Did you read the news?" Lombarde asked, his smug grin increasing ten-fold.

"Of course I read the news. Who do you think you're talking to, Joyce?" The reporter gave him a look like _'bitch, please'_. "I _report_ the news, Lombarde. If I didn't stay on top of the weird crap happening in the city, I'd be a pretty poor reporter."

"But do you know what happened?"

"Sure. Gang wars blowing up all across the Slums and fucking _Guardian_ just popped out of the woodwork to hand some ass to people. Look me in the eye and tell me who _didn't_ hear about that."

As if the appearance of the Superman (Kal-El was the other name Lois knew him by, but 'Superman' was a better public fit) hadn't been enough for the world, the old hero Guardian (or someone dressed just like him) had been out and about all weekend cracking the heads of gang-bangers in the Suicide Slums. Guardian had been well known in his days on the lower peninsula, working mostly around the Detroit area. But the fact that he had been seen and reliably identified here in Metropolis was enough to make the city's head spin.

Lois grinned while Lombarde's smug expression slipped off his face, replaced by something that looked a bit like disappointment. He must have been looking forward to finally knowing something she didn't. But that was the thing. Lois knew _everything_.

"Sorry tough guy, but you're gonna have to get up earlier than that if you expect to get one past me." she said, patting his cheek a bit condescendingly. "But your enthusiasm's commendable."

She left Lombarde standing near the entry looking a bit dejected and walked across the newsroom to her desk. Her desk which was no longer surrounded by the same grouping of people as it had been last Monday.

It didn't surprise her terribly. Every couple of months, Perry gave them the chance to swap desks around, change up the view. Cathy the crime beat reporter was still there on the other side of the cubicle wall, forever lurking behind the two ferns she had put up to block Lois's view. The guy in front of Lois was still there, the view of his butt-crack still blocked by the cubicle wall in front of her desk, and joy of joys, Osborne had moved across the room! His desk was empty for the moment _-_ \- maybe they were getting a new guy?

It was the person who had moved in behind her that intrigued her the most.

"Mornin' Smallville!" Lois said, perhaps a bit loudly.

"Good morning, Ms. Lane." Clark said, glancing up briefly from Tuesday edition of the paper. He was still on the front page, the bold banner headline reading **HEROES RETURNING?**

"This partner thing we have going becoming a long-term arrangement?" Lois asked, setting her things down. She tilted the top of the page down so she could see the name in the byline.

Clark nodded. "Perry said something about wanting to see it last at least six months. He thought one of us should move desks and since you weren't here Monday..." He trailed off with a shrug.

"Six months sounds doable." Lois agreed, shucking off her coat. She could probably do a year, but there was still some feeling out to do about the good Mr. Kent before she could agree to a full year. "All caught up on the news?"

"Who isn't?" Clark said rhetorically, giving something of a sheepish smile.

For how much _everything_ had been plastered all over the news sites, it was hard not to be caught up. He'd made quite a splash, after all. Guardian's first appearance in two decades hadn't overshadowed the likes of the Superman. More like people were regarding it as the next step in a sequence of events.

"What do you think about it?" Lois asked, flicking the headline with her finger as she sat down.

Clark went "Hmm..." thoughtfully and hesitated over an answer. What was he supposed to say? What would a normal person say about everything that had happened this past week?

The internet chatter had been excitable, and the excitement had been palpable. If the Superman's presence could inspire a comparatively minor hero like Guardian to reappear, then what were the odds he could bring back out someone a little more big leagues?

The Central-Keystone area was predictably and loudly speculating over a possible re-emergence of the Flash, Jay Garrick. More to the point, they were gauging the odds of who would win in a fight, the Flash or Zoom. Said odds were heavily tipped in the Flash's favor, as he had fifty years worth of experience behind him dealing with ninnies like Zoom. What few supporters the yellow-clad speedster still had left mostly framed their arguments around Garrick's age, saying that his eighty-eight years couldn't possibly be a match for Zoom's more robust late-twenties, early-thirties.

It was really the only argument they had.

And it wasn't a very good one.

The fear, however, was just was as palpable. In the mid-eighties, there had been something called the Scare. Some people called it the White Scare, referring to the white flag of the movement. Even today, information on the event was scarce and hard to find, but what everyone knew was that the population of metahumans around the nation had attempted to rise up in revolution and forcibly take what they had deemed theirs. Unrest had turned into rioting had turned into fighting up and down both coasts and into the mountains. The final death tolls had made those four years some of the bloodiest on record.

The government had crushed the would-be revolutionaries by 1987 and had crushed them hard. In the three years following, they had spoken out harshly against meta-powers, calling the Scare an act of domestic terrorism and its participants were subsequently branded as terrorists. The ongoing treatise about the evils of metahumans had culminated in the Gem City Riots over the summer of '89 and the passing of Order 0088, which had dismantled and disbanded all metahuman and superhero support agencies. Metahumans had sunk to a depth of obscurity that they had never reached before. They hid their powers in fear that their neighbors and even their own family members would recoil in disgust and horror; that they would be turned out onto the streets or turned over to Homeland Security where they would never see the light of day again.

To be something more than a plain vanilla mortal meant being feared and hated.

When the Flash had retired the very next year, there had stopped being such a thing as superheroes.

Those people who feared the chain reaction that Superman might start, however unintentionally, were justified in being afraid. If Superman could inspire the old heroes to come out of retirement, then he was just as capable of bringing the old villains out of retirement as well.

Or his presence would create brand-new ones who wanted to test themselves against a man who seemed very hard to beat. To test themselves against someone everyone was calling 'Superman'.

So Clark couldn't blame those nay-sayers for even one second.

"I don't what to think." he admitted honestly, to Lois. "On one hand, it's a little exciting. I mean, this all fell down when I was five and it looked like it was going to stay that way, so seeing it get back up again isn't something I imagined would happen in my life-time. On the other hand, this also isn't new territory. New superheroes usually means new bad guys."

He didn't want to be responsible for bringing calamity upon Metropolis, or the rest of the world for that matter.

"Yeah..." Lois nodded in agreement, biting her lip briefly. "I've been up and down the forums all weekend. You're right, it's not new territory, but it's unprecedented. We've never had a situation of superheroes dropping off the map and then reappearing like this. There's going to be panic. Ten bucks on rioting."

"Ms. Lane..."

"Twenty and a bag of that expensive coffee you like. Final offer."

"Ms. Lane, this is not something we should bet on."

"I know. That's why we _should_." Lois said insistently. "When shit like this gets thrown at the fan, you need to have _some_ fun with it, Smallville. Yeesh, live a little."

"I'm not capitalizing on people's panic." Clark said, crossing his arms. He shrugged. "Anyways, you'd probably win."

He could admit that much. The gangs were firing up across the city and the police were coiled tight with tension, waiting for the worst. Unless something else happened to divert their attention, it probably wouldn't be much longer before the regular city folk got in on the brick-throwing too.

Lois nodded in agreement. "Such wisdom you have, Smallville." she commented. "I started a file for him."

"A file for who?" Clark asked, not sure where he should follow that non-sequiter.

"For the Superman, Kal-El, whatever he's going to call himself." Lois leaned down to grab her bag and out of it she extracted a battered, heavily taped together, and _absolutely stuffed_ D-ring binder. "Behold! My retroactively researched database on all things weird, strange, and super-heroic in the last sixteen and a half years."

It landed on Clark's desk with a thud solid enough to kill a fish.

On the cover of the binder were some faded old stickers, mostly of the smiley face variety. If he tilted his head a little, the lights caught the outline of a word that appeared to read _'studies'_ with _'-alism'_ slightly superimposed over it. It appeared that the binder had served Lois faithfully through some of high school and most of college before she had repurposed it.

He wasn't going to ask why she hadn't thrown it out.

"I started this three years ago, after the Saffron Streak Zoom showed up." Lois said, flipping the cover open for him. "All the superheroes might have gone into retirement sixteen years ago, but they sure as hell didn't keep their noses out of things."

The first thing on top was a table of contents. Typed out, it was easily among the most recent additions to the binder. There were the superhero teams - the Justice Society, the All-Star Squadron, Infinity Inc., the Seven Soldiers of Victory, the Freedom Fighters, and more than Clark had been aware of. The teams were subdivided into the individual members. The next major item were the solo heroes, like the three successive Starmen and the Congorilla and even Zoom was in there at the bottom - Lois had meticulously alphabetized everything.

And right at the bottom of the S's, there he was: Superman (Kal-El).

Then the enemies... Oh dear lord, she had researched all of the significant enemies of each group and each hero and _Look at that, I didn't know there were five different versions of Dr. Maniac._ Clark thought.

The final major divider was miscellaneous metahumans who were categorized as neither hero nor villain, organized by date and location as far back as 1981 and as far abroad as the Middle East.

"This is _only_ three years of work?" Clark asked with a sense of awe, flicking through the first few pages covering the Justice Society. Specifically, Jay Garrick of the Justice Society who had never bothered to wear a mask and had had a habit of signing his real name for autographs. A thorough, detailed timeline of the hero's history had been spread across several pages.

"Okay, I started collecting the information when I was nineteen _-_ \- it was for a term project in college _-_ \- but it didn't mutate into this until three years ago." Lois admitted. "There was a thing. These Rube Goldberg style murders. Probably meta-human involvement, but I never got an answer on that."

"I haven't heard of even half this stuff." Clark commented, skimming through the Flash's timeline with an increasing sense of _holy shit this is amazeballs where did she find the time to put this together?..._

Lois grinned. "I've been acting like a reporter longer than I've actually been employed as one, Smallville." she said smugly.

She reached over and flipped the entire mass of paperwork back into the solo heroes category, then turned pages until she had arrived at the back half of the S's and Clark found a picture of his own face, sans glasses, wearing the armor the A.I.s had built for him with the coat-of-arms across his chest. Going by the projector tucked under his arm, he knew it was a video still from the footage Lois had recorded. There was a file folder right behind it.

"I spent Monday making calls to all my contacts. I've got one on each continent. Hoping to have one in every geographic region." she went on, as Clark started to investigate the contents. "As near as I can tell, this is every possible sighting of the Superman in the last eight years."

There had to be at least fifty articles crammed into the pockets and Clark skimmed through the headlines quickly. They were from everywhere, all over the world. He knew immediately to strike out the ones from Australia and Africa; he hadn't ventured into Africa and since his flight ability hadn't matured until this past year, there was no way he had made it all the way down to Australia. All of the printed articles were marked with sticky tabs.

"The red tabs mean I'm absolutely certain that Superman was involved." Lois explained, proud of her system. "The yellow tabs are more of a 'maybe'. Definitely something super-human, but not quite Superman. And the blue tabs need more research before we can upgrade the color or strike them out."

"What about the purple tabs up here?" Clark asked.

"Confirmed sightings of the remaining Justice Society. Apparently, Alan Scott the Green Lantern is showing up in New York City again. Nothing overt, but it's hard to miss green hard-light constructs doing things like pulling idiot pedestrians out of the way or preventing subway accidents." Lois said. She shook her head. "I swear that Lantern guy must be in his late eighties by now, but he doesn't look a day over thirty. What do you think his secret is?"

"Clean living." Clark commented.

"Or it's the god-knows-where his powers come from." Lois grumbled. She was going to age gracefully, if her genetics had any say in the matter, but even she wasn't going to look middle-aged when she was in her eighties. "I had to mark a few coming out of Central. They definitely had to be Jay Garrick because they precede the first appearance of Zoom by at least two years. Y'know, at least he shows his age. Sort of. He looks like he's in his late forties."

"He was still fairly spry by the time he retired." Clark said, which only seemed to make the dark-haired woman grumble some more.

For his age and as much as he had gone through since World War II, the one thing that had surprised Clark the most was just how energetic and spritely Jay Garrick had been in that final interview before his retirement. He had taken more battering than a team of football players and the only complaint he had uttered was how his shoulders twinged sometimes in damp weather.

Lois shrugged. "Whatever. Anyways..." She tugged out the red-tabbed articles from the brand-new Superman file. "Here, these are interesting."

Of the eight articles that were tabbed red, only two of them were legit and they were as old as 2003. During the last leg of his globe-trotting venture, Clark had wound up on the Mediterrannean island of Corto Maltese just as a group of revolutionaries had decided to start something. The article, haltingly translated from Italian, reported a man performing nearly impossible feats, mainly regarding super-strength and flight.

No wonder it had caught Lois's attention.

"I was there in Corto Maltese when this revolutionary fracas went down. Dad tried to do family-bonding. Believe me, it was a miserable failure." Lois said, tapping the article gleefully. "I swear I might have seen him, even. Guess what some eyewitnesses saw. They described a man practically _flying_ them to safety." She grinned, dark eyes glittering. "Sound a little familiar, Smallville?"

Clark adjusted his classes. "A little." he said. Really, no wonder it had caught her attention. She had _been_ there. He hadn't been flying (long, controlled leaps, really), but she had been there. She could have seen him. "What about this horrid shade of puke-green?" he asked, poking the tab that was at the end of the solo heroes category.

"I didn't have piss yellow." Lois replied. "It's for Central City's most hated resident speedster. He's been getting around a bit lately. Spotted in Seattle back on October twenty-fifth. The sixth, the same day Superman first appeared, enjoying five cheese-steak sandwiches with onions in Philly. Yesterday, nine car pile-up on the Eisner Bridge in Central with three more going over the side and he's nowhere in sight."

"I didn't hear about that. Was everyone alright?" Clark asked. He hadn't thought to get back out there since last week. Especially not with Trask still prowling, his movements unknown.

And even though it was his job to keep up with the news, he couldn't say that he had been paying much attention to what was going on outside of Metropolis.

He should probably make it a habit of reading the national news.

It kicked him now, the twinge of guilt. There was probably _something_ he could have done.

"No casualties. It was on a stretch of the Eisner Bridge goes over the canal. Six feet deep, tops. The average person can stand up in that." Lois assured him. "But it's not helping Zoom's reputation turn any less black."

"I can't blame him for leaving the city from time to time. Have you read any of the news coming of Central about him?" Clark asked. He had never read more vitriolic articles in his life.

The dark-haired woman laughed, a note of scorn in her tone. "Yeah, there is some beautifully-crafted sarcasm coming out of that city." she said, nodding with approval. "I might be changing my mind about Kansas."

"How so?"

"Well, it might have something there after all."

She flashed a playful grin that suggested she was not really reconsidering her stance about Kansas or she was actually talking about him. Then she went on to explain the other six red-tabbed articles.

They were bogus, however, putting him in places like New Guinea and Singapore and India. All dated up to five years ago, before he had actually developed full flight capabilities. He had only skirted the northern border of India on his way across the continent, so Singapore and New Guinea had been too far off to consider making the trip. Clark recalled that he had turned further inland towards more desert-like climes.

The articles were most likely the result of someone trying to cash in on the stir his presence had caused (no, he hadn't stayed out of trouble). One of those remaining six claimed that he (or someone like him) was in talks with the Chinese government. Knowing exactly where he hadn't been, Clark could see how transparent that one was. That one was heavy on the propaganda and sparse on actual details. Trace it back to its source and you would probably find that an office aide for a politician's assistant had been tasked to write it.

Tabbed with yellow was an article from the Edge City _Daily Globe_ , about a woman who had almost been run over by a speeding semi-truck. Her heel had caught in a manhole cover in the middle of a crosswalk and there had been an impatient semi-truck barreling down the road well above the speed limit with no regard for human life. One second she had been facing certain death and the next, she was in the grass on the other side of the road, missing one shoe, a little dazed and windblown, and no one had been certain how she'd gotten there.

That one was legit too.

It had occurred literally last year, near the Edge City community college that Clark had attended. There had been no time to move like a normal human. Clark wouldn't have been able to pull that woman out of the way in time otherwise. So he had decided to move faster than the human eye could process.

There were three others that were legit, but they were tabbed in blue. Awkwardly translated from Russian and around five years old, they related an event such as a man lifting a car up with one hand, walking away from a thirty-foot drop, or punching through a wall. Feats of endurance and strength that weren't entirely outside the realm of human possibility and thus not something you would immediately label 'super-human'. But Lois was right that he hadn't exactly stayed out of trouble while in Russia. And Clark remembered very well where he'd been when he had lifted that car and jumped thirty feet and punched through a concrete wall.

It was just fortunate that Lois wasn't connecting the dots.

Not yet, at least.

"So, what do you think?" Lois asked, when she had finished her explanation. Admittedly, it was a very well put together explanation and if Clark hadn't been on the inside of this thing, he might have believed every word. He was okay with letting Lois think she had the whole thing pegged, but at the same time, he wanted to set the record straight.

"I don't know about the Chinese one." Clark said, morphing his face into a mask of confusion. "It doesn't make sense. The time-frame, I mean. It's too close together."

"What?" Lois slid in a little closer.

"Well, he was spotted over Singapore at the same time he was supposedly talking to the Chinese government." Clark pointed to the time-stamps in the accompanying photos. The Singapore photo showed what was either a bird or plane or perhaps a cloud while the Chinese photo had a generic shot of some government buildings. "The uh, 'Superman'... He was either in one place or the other or neither at all, but I don't think he could have been in both at once."

"Hmm..." Lois pursed her lips. "So one was lying and if I know anything about the Chinese government, it's probably them. It wouldn't be the first time they've made stuff up to make themselves look better." She tapped the Singapore article. "These guys managed to get a picture. The quality's crap, but it's more than the other guys got."

Clark made a show of peering at the photo.

"I think that might really be a cloud."

Lois frowned. "You wear Hubble lenses so I don't trust your eyesight's accuracy, Smallville." she said, gesturing to the thick black frames. She bent over the photo, so close that Clark didn't even have to try when it came to smelling her body-wash. "Besides, you can clearly see the cape here."

"Ms. Lane, I honestly think it's a cloud."

Lois frowned at him like he was throwing off the rest of her rehearsed explanation, peering at him like he was an especially recalcitrant brick wall. She really looked like she wanted to argue with him, but couldn't seem to find the words.

Odd for her that she couldn't put up a satisfactory argument. Clark chalked that one up to the painkillers.

"Ugh, forget it." she groaned, flipping her hands up briefly before she heaved herself out of the chair. "I'm gonna head downstairs and get some coffee. I'm practically falling asleep here. I hate not being able to think straight."

"I thought you were on new painkillers." Clark was pretty sure that a lot of painkillers weren't supposed to be mixed with caffeine, so he hoped she was on a new prescription.

"Yeah, but they're still harshing my buzz. Turns out I don't sleep well with plaster on my arm." she said. "Text me if Perry shows up before I get back."

She grabbed a five out of her wallet and stuffed it into her slacks' pocket, then fished her phone out of the front compartment. She unlocked the screen and got onto her Chirp feed to see if there was any new buzz about gangs and old superheroes cracking heads. There was nothing new and Lois couldn't tell if that was good or bad overall. Word of Guardian doing just that had gotten around to the rest Metropolis's gangs over the course of the weekend. By Sunday, most the gangs had stopped trying to thrash each other so they wouldn't bring the armored hero down on top of them.

But if the gangs had quieted down and Guardian had returned to relative anonymity (for the moment), then something else was bound to take their place in the news. Something bigger and bolder and more panic-inducing than before.

Such was the nature of weird shit.

Lois turned the corner out of the newsroom and into the elevator lobby. There were big windows to the left that let in the winter sunshine, casting a glare across the polished floor. It was normally crowded any other time of the day; lunch time was the worst. So that was why "Don't scream." surprised just as much as the gun barrel that pressed into the small of her back.

She felt the cold weight of fear drop over her and she went very still. She could all but smell the looming presence of danger over her shoulder. It was heavy and thick like a stinky quilt. Through the fabric of her blazer, the gun barrel was somewhat chill. A shiver went up her spine. She had very good idea of what the bullet would do to her back at the non-existent range.

"I didn't want to do this, Miss Lane, but you're not leaving me with any choice." Trask's distinct voice rumbled in her ear. His breath wafted past her nose, smelling strongly of garlic.

"What, shoot a nine millimeter through my spine at point-blank just outside a newsroom that tried to string you up once before?" Lois quipped, digging up a measure of shaky courage. "Or choke me with your garlic breath?"

"I'm a government agent, Miss Lane. I know how to be discreet." Trask said.

"Yeah, tell that Andrea Saunders, Jeannie Henderson, and Jackie Adams when you stormed into their homes and shot them in full view of their neighbors." Lois snapped. "Or to Tina Abbott and Marlene Long. How about Norma Marsh? Were you discreet when you had them beaten and arrested in the middle of the street?" She grinned nastily. "Oh, I know about all of that. It's all going into my article. The Florida Keys incident alone ended with at least _-_ \- how many, four dozen people in the hospital because of you? You're a sick man, Trask. I just want everyone to know that."

Trask pushed forward with the gun barrel and snatched the phone from her hand. He tossed it aside where it hit the floor with a clatter that Lois hoped was loud enough to heard by _someone_. He put his hand on her shoulder.

"Let's take a walk this way." he said.

"Whatever you want." Lois agreed.

Trask propelled her back out of the elevator lobby and down the hall past the restrooms. Beyond that was the swinging doors leading to the janitorial and service corridors. This time of day, there would be no one back there. They could get down the service elevator sight unseen. There was probably another swim in the lake waiting for her.

The obliviousness of the human race was one of the ways that Lois earned her bread and butter. She saw things that other people just plain _missed_ and called attention to it. But never before had she actually cursed that human trait. Her co-workers were so self-absorbed in their computers and their work that they didn't notice the (admittedly discreetly dressed) government agent who'd come screaming into the newsroom last week, currently packing heat and all it was aimed into Lois's back, walking past the entry. It wasn't catching their eye, so it wasn't important. Trask didn't want to attract unwanted attention. It was probably the only reason Lois didn't have a bullet in her just yet.

 _I'm boned. I am so boned._ She thought despairingly as the agent directed her through those doors. She forced herself to inhale slowly and calmly, to keep her wits about her. _Okay, play it cool, Lane. You'll find a way out of this. You're good at that. Just play it cool for now._

Unbeknownst to them, Clark rushed into the lobby just seconds after they had disappeared through the swinging doors, having heard Trask's voice and the sound of Lois's phone hitting the floor. Three seconds too late to notice them and looking the wrong way.

He tugged off his glasses and looked up and down the elevator shaft. No one was coming, both cars were still resting at the bottom of their shafts twenty floors down. He looked down through the floor (something he really tried not to do because _wow_ that was unnerving), but to his frustration, there were limits to how far his x-ray vision could go.

Clark pushed his glasses back up his nose and gave the lobby another restless look before he went into the adjacent hallway instead and into the men's room. It was empty, so his closed his eyes and listened instead.

If his eyes couldn't find them, maybe his ears could.

Both Trask and Lois sounded very distinctive. Trask had grown up in a southern state, giving him a drawl that wasn't as pronounced as Perry's, but it still made him stand out. Lois had the clipped Metropolis accent that was made for fast tongues and faster lips, and the occasional tendency to fault back on German pronunciations.

While Clark exercised his super-hearing and did his best impression of a radar, Lois was guided through the dim service corridors with the gun in her back. Trask wasn't chatty. He kept up a silent, looming presence, a large square hand resting on the younger woman's shoulder. It was only resting. Lois was sure that if Trask had started to squeeze, he would have easily fractured the bones.

"Still going to shoot me back there?" she asked.

"Shut up, you little bitch." Trask growled, rolling his eyes. "As much as I want to right now, I don't want to make a mess that the police are going to trace back to me. But don't think that I won't."

"So you're a more sophisticated, civilized government agent for not leaving messes for other people to clean up, but you still wanted to shoot my coworker because you think he's an _alien_. I guess we also won't talk about your prostitute soliciting and your rape charges or that jail time you did for sexually harassing your neighbor's eight year old daughter." Lois snarked, rolling her eyes.

Now the hand did squeeze over her shoulder and the gun barrel dug into her spine despite her vain efforts to get away from him. Her skin tingled and a fluttery feeling blossomed in her gut at the thought of the bullet passing through her insides.

"Just because I won't shoot you right now doesn't mean I'm not tempted." Trask said, threateningly. "Like I said, it would make a mess that you wouldn't have the decency to clean up."

"Sorry, no such thing as a self-cleaning corpse. So if you're not going to shoot me, then what are you going to do with me?" she asked. She hated herself for being curious about how she was going to die. But wasn't that something that crossed everyone's mind once in a while?

"Do you always ask questions when you're about to die?" Trask wondered.

"I'm an investigative reporter to my last breath." Lois shrugged. She couldn't help it. It was like a biological imperative. She **had** to ask questions.

"Don't be impatient, Miss Lane."

They reached the end of the corridor, where there was a locked door. Trask simply reached out and with no visible effort, he jerked the door open. The lock didn't stand a chance. Lois had sudden horrible visions of the agent snapping her neck like a dry twig.

Then they stepped out onto the roof.

Fifty-seven floors up, the wind roared, icy and bitter.

"I'm not shoot you, Miss Lane! You're going to jump!" Trask ordered, raising his voice in order to be heard.

Lois stared in horror at what was in front of her. There wasn't anything in front of her. That was the problem.

The section of roof wasn't big, four feet maybe. There was a ladder mounted on the wall leading up to the Planet's rotating sphere. Except for a ledge several inches in height, there wasn't anything that would better prevent a person from taking a leap.

Lois felt it again, _l'appel du vide_ , the strange urge to jump, and reeled back before she could give in, momentarily forgetting that there was a madman with a gun standing behind her. The man gave her small shove that almost knocked her off her feet. Her heels scraped the concrete and she came perilously close to the edge before she regained her balance, but the wind tugged strongly on her clothes. She shivered reflexively when the bitterness cut right through the fabric and seeped down into her toes.

"No one will think you were forced! It's the perfect cover for your murder! Rarely do the suicidal give warning that they're about to leave this world behind!" Trask said, holding the gun out to prevent her from trying to reach safer ground.

"Do you honestly think that anyone will believe it? People know me better!" Lois pointed out, glaring.

"A Pulitzer winner who struggled after receiving the award! A woman so dedicated to her craft that losing it drove her to despair!" The government agent wore a thoughtful look for a second. "Yeah, I think people will believe it! They don't know you as well as you want to believe, Miss Lane! Once the facts are laid out, they'll take anything at face value!"

"You must have no faith in humanity!" Lois grumbled, curling her fingers into fists. The tips were starting to feel uncomfortably numb. She wasn't dressed for the outdoors, having not intended to leave the building.

"That's because they're all stupid, mindless insects!" Trask shouted. He had the gun level with the younger woman's eyes. "I can live with that! The problem is people like you! The ones who see way more than they should be allowed! You should have stayed away from my business! I know about your article, Miss Lane! This is how far I'm willing to go to prevent you from publishing it!"

"Nah, I'm still going through with it!" Lois decided, regardless of where she was standing. Perhaps Clark would publish it for her. "I'm going to _bury_ you if it's the last thing I do!"

"Not since I'm getting to you first!" Trask retorted. "I didn't spend seven years of my life looking for Prometheus- to kill him before he kills us!- just to have some nosy little girl like you destroy everything because you think you can work for a newspaper! You are going to jump! That's not a suggestion!"

"Come here and make me! C'mon! I'm a foot from the edge!" Lois challenged, making 'c'mon' motions.

Trask frowned and the gun in his hand faltered just half an inch to the side. Lois saw the opening and took full advantage of it. The barrel was half an inch to the side and that was enough. She lunged with her hands ready, her left striking out towards Trask's wrist and her right angling for the man's jaw.

Trask jerked his gun-hand out of the way, but his head wasn't so quickly moved and the reporter's knuckles struck with exacting precision. It was hard to say who had been more hurt by the blow. The agent didn't quite reel away from it, but his head turned hard to side. Lois's fist started to throb from the impact and she briefly wondered if she had punched the wall instead.

She whirled around instantly, shoving her shoulders up into the agent's chest and grabbed the still outstretched gun arm, intending to flip the larger man over her shoulders. Trask didn't give her that chance. He lurched forward powerfully. There wasn't much roof between them and the edge. The next thing Lois knew, there was no solid surface underneath her and they were both plummeting over the side of the ledge and down the building, gravity ripping at them.

" _You crazy bastard! You crazy bastard, you just killed us both_!" Lois screamed. The words were torn from her mouth. She wasn't even sure Trask could hear her. She could barely hear herself.

Inexplicably, a ham-like fist bashed across her face so hard the first thing she tasted was blood and turned her plummet into a tailspin. After a dizzying second in which the ground got horrifically closer with no explanation, Lois realized that the government agent had punched her. She could taste blood on her tongue _-_ \- had she bitten her cheek? _-_ \- and her head was spinning. She wasn't sure if that had anything do to with a concussion or just the fact she was spinning like a motor blade. Imagine if she vomited before hitting the ground, she felt so sick to her stomach _-_ \- Trask was bellowing something at her and pointing the gun- He was still going to shoot Lois even though they were about to become street-pizza! _-_ -

"Don't worry, I've got you!" called out a man's voice.

 ***BANG!*BANG!***

The first gunshot deafened her in one ear and the second might have hit her; Lois wasn't sure. All she knew was that her deathly plunge had come to a jerking halt and that she couldn't separate the dizziness and pain her head from anywhere else.

There was a strong arm looped around her waist. A reassuringly strong arm covered in royal blue and cradling her against a broad chest like she was a kitten. And the ground was still at least thirty feet away, though she could see the horrified and awed faces of the pedestrians below, hands outstretched and fingers pointing and she thought she heard cheering. Her face was throbbing, her stomach wanted to heave, her eyes felt like they were crossing, and her head just might fall off, but she managed to look up and focus on the handsome face of the man who had plucked her out of mid-air for a second time in a week, with the square jaw and such bright blue eyes, and wondered if maybe he really was here to be someone's hero.

* * *

-0-


	28. Checkmate

Monranr, you are a gem.

Also, I'm seriously looking forward to Supergirl season 2. This Superman smiles.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Checkmate

This time, it took less than a minute for people to start spreading the second appearance of the Superman across the internet. Literally, as far as Clark could tell. At 8:58, he had grabbed Lois out of midair (Trask too). By 8:59, the first pictures had hit Chirp and they had started trending within ten minutes.

Here Clark was about thirty minutes after depositing Lois safely on the ground (she had been woozy and staggering a little, but conscious enough to swear obscenely) and then he had dropped Trask in front of the police station, in front of several thunder-struck officers, informing them that the agent had violated the restraining order that was supposed to keep him out of the _Daily Planet_ building.

About forty minutes in total had passed and the internet was doing its thing. The pictures were everywhere, the memes were starting, and (predictably) the Gem Cities were inviting Superman to come down and punch Zoom in the testicles.

On one hand, Clark supposed the turn-around time oughta not have been that surprising. Downtown was a busy place at any time of the day and Planet Square was a high traffic volume area no matter the weather. The phones had come out the very instant people had noticed Lois and Trask falling, so by the time Superman showed up, they had basically been ready for him.

On the other hand, it was kind of alarming how quickly the internet did its thing.

Clark glanced up from his phone to check on Lois, who was patiently waiting for the doctor to complete his examination. Perry hovered nearby in a slightly anxious manner, waiting for the verdict, even though the doctor's mumblings were fairly positive. Lois was quite bright-eyed, obviously alert, and still quietly bubbling with anger. The second she had gotten her wits back, Lois had been _furious_ that Trask had broken the restraining order and Clark had heard her screaming: _"Superman! Put Trask back here! I have to kick his ass! You can't just haul him off like that!"_

Clark had raced back to the building and had gotten his suit and tie back on in time to arrive in the lobby just after Perry. Officially, as he had told the police officers who had come by to make sure everything was a-okay, Clark had seen Trask herd Lois by at gunpoint and it had taken him a moment to recognize the agent. Then he had rushed after them only to arrive a moment to late to prevent them from falling off the roof. Then Superman.

That was pretty much what had happened anyways. Clark had just left out the part where he had yanked off his clothes and dove after them.

The doctor stepped back.

"All right, Miss Lane. You're fine." he announced, easing the level of tension in the conference room. Perry visibly relaxed. "No concussion, no cracked teeth. Your cheeks match, but the swelling isn't severe. I'm prescribing an ice pack for your face; the painkillers you're already on should handle anything else. I think the only other souvenir you're getting out of this is sore muscles; that was a quite a fall. How does your wrist feel?"

Lois shrugged. "No worse than it normally does. Like a dull ache that I stop noticing after a minute."

"Good. Now obviously, if the pain worsens, go the emergency room immediately. If you start to feel dizzy or faint, emergency room. I probably don't need to go through this with you again." the doctor said, with a little chuckle. This was hardly the first time he had gotten called out to the _Planet_ because Lois Lane had gotten herself in trouble. "But it looks like I can leave you with a clean bill of health. Just try and take it easy for the rest of the day."

"Oh, she doesn't do that. She likes to drive our insurance premiums up." Perry grumbled. But he turned to the doctor with a relieved expression. "Thanks again, Silvia _-_ \- Sylvester, sorry, I'll get that right the first time eventually. Thanks for this."

"It isn't a problem. Makes my day more interesting." the doctor said, shaking hands with the editor. "And for goodness sake, Miss Lane, don't go falling off any more buildings."

"I'll try not to." Lois said dryly and not very convincingly. Various kinds of near-death experiences were not unusual developments for her. Falling off buildings, yeah, that was new.

All the same, she couldn't make any promises.

It was just enough for good old Doctor Warren, though, perhaps because he never saw the reporter come off the worst for the danger she got up to. He stripped off the latex gloves, packed his bag, and bid them a good morning. When the conference room door shut, Perry crossed his arms and said:

"Goddammit, Lois."

"Hey, I'm not dead." Lois commented. She was still too frustrated at Trask being hauled off before she could get her hands on him to cringe under Perry's disappointed and annoyed tone.

"You could have been. Very easily." The editor heaved out a loud sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Right as rain, chief, matching blush notwithstanding." the reporter assured him. She rubbed her newly bruised cheek gingerly. "Gah, and the other one was just starting to fade around the edges. How does my face look, Smallville?"

"Like you've been punched twice in the span of a week." Clark said, seeing no point in lying in any form. The first bruise Trask had left was covered in a fair bit of concealer and the swelling had long since vanished, but the chipmunk-like appearance was starting to form on the other side and the blue-purple coloring was coming in.

"But am I still pretty?" Lois asked absently, prodding fingers around her jaw carefully. She leaned over the glossy surface of the conference table to see if she could make out any details of her reflection.

She didn't sound terribly worried about an answer, so Clark kept that one to himself. If she had expected one, he definitely would have said _'yes'_. Yes, she was definitely still pretty despite the recent battering.

"You sure you can put in a full day today?" Perry asked, concerned. "I can send you home otherwise."

Even as he made the offer, he knew Lois would never jump on it. She had just come off from a seven-day break and she was hankering to get some work done. The offended look on her face said that much.

"Why, what do you need done?" she asked, with the sort of eager body-language that said _'pick me pick me!'_

"I need someone to get the full scoop on Guardian's return and since you seem to be attracting superheroes..." Perry let that trail off with a shrug.

"Oh, I am so up for that!" Lois said eagerly, standing up and wincing as her usual grin pushed on the swelling. "Hang on, who are you putting on the whole Superman business? He just saved my ass. Again. Regardless of my ass, that's news. Twice is coming up on enemy action."

"Kent's already on it." Perry answered, gesturing over his shoulder.

"I am?" Clark asked.

"Aren't you?"

Clark glanced back down to his phone, still open to his newsfeed, and then back up to the editor. "That's a bad idea." he said quickly. He was supposed to be unbiased, impartial, and he couldn't really be either if he was directly involved in the story.

Not that anyone else here knew that.

"No, no, it's a good idea. You need practice performing interviews and Lois can give you good feedback." Perry explained, though it came out a bit more of an order. "So is that clear for both of you? Lois, Guardian. Clark, Superman. Those are your assignments for today. I want worthy front-pagers from the pair of you in tomorrow's paper. I'll create the superhero beat if I have to."

Lois nodded, half in agreement and half in determination while Clark experienced a faint sense of dread that this wasn't going to end the way Perry thought it would and he had no idea where that thought was coming from. Maybe five weeks of working with Lois had installed that feeling in him. Because didn't it seem like whenever Lois was at the heart of things, it all went bad?

On the other hand, he was quite possibly the only person Lois would actually talk to.

"Hey Smallville!" Lois snapped her fingers to get his attention. "You been inside the Suicide Slums yet?"

"Can't say I've had the pleasure." Clark commented, getting to his feet. He had seen it from the air, though. About twenty irregularly-shaped blocks on the western-most tip of New Troy, it had the highest population density in the city. It didn't look like a pleasant place to live.

Some of the people he'd talked to about it claimed that it reminded them of Gotham.

"Brace yourself, that's where we're heading." Lois informed him. She glanced sideways at Perry, who had busied himself in the meantime with messages on his phone. "I'll tell you everything on the way." she added, albeit furtively.

On that note, they left the _Daily Planet_ building, but not before Lois fetched herself a coffee as originally planned and patted some make-up on the burgeoning bruise so it didn't look quite so obvious. Then they were out on the cold, snowy streets of Metropolis, hurrying to catch the west-bound C-Train.

"So, you were going to tell me something?" Clark prompted, once they were aboard the smooth-running light rail. Incredibly smooth. Really, these trains hummed like well-tuned and well-plucked guitar strings.

"Right, Trask." Lois took a sip of her coffee so she had a second to gather her thoughts. "This is strictly off the record, Smallville. Got that? _Off._ _Record_. No one needs to know exactly _why_ Trask tried to kill me _-_ -"

"Ms. Lane _-_ -"

"Not open for negotiation! I'll tell you what happened as long as no one else finds out, okay?"

Clark didn't look pleased with the terms, judging from all the contortions his face was doing. But his curiosity out-weighed his indigination and he nodded, albeit a tad grudgingly.

"You know that editorial I've been working on for the past week? The one that's going to rip Trask's reputation to shreds? Well, he found out about it and he doesn't want me to publish it. Apparently, staging my suicide was option number one."

"Ms. Lane!" Clark cried, horrified. "Why didn't you tell the police when they came? He tried to murder you!"

"He's murdered dozens over the years, Smallville. Dozens. And for less than what I'm doing. He's still walking. I'd need solid proof that he can't talk his way out of. Something no one can talk him out of." Lois told him, her tone a bit harsh. Someone was yanking Trask out of hot legal water and she had a terrible feeling that the man behind the curtain just might have been her own father.

She was going to have a word with him sooner rather than later.

"If he's willing to kill you just to prevent you from publishing that editorial, then maybe you shouldn't publish it." Clark said.

"I know I shouldn't and that's exactly why it's going into Thursday's paper as planned."

"But he threw you off a roof just an hour ago!"

"And I'm not dead, so let's move forward." Lois said calmly. "There's something Mom used to tell me. If, during the course of a story, someone tries to kill you or convert you, you're on the right track. And guess what? Both things have happened, so I'm clearly on to something _bigger_ than the entire city." She shook her head. "I don't even know how he found out about the editorial in the first place."

"Maybe they've got a bug in your computer." Clark suggested. A very likely one, considering that Gigante and several of her thugs had been hanging out in Lois's apartment for god knew how long. They might have had enough time to slip a bug in her laptop.

"Ms. Lane, as much as I admire your conviction, I really don't think you should go through with publishing the article. You got incredibly lucky today, but what if Superman hadn't been there to catch you? What if they were still scraping you off the pavement right now?"

And he felt his gorge rise a little as his imagination tried to provide him with images of what Lois might have looked like had he failed to catch her. His imagination wasn't vivid enough to conjure up anything really gruesome, but it didn't need to be for him to feel a little sick to his stomach.

The black-haired reporter sighed. "Chill Smallville, I'm not _-_ -"

"Lois."

She broke off as Clark reached over and placed both hands on her shoulders, coaxing her to turn and face him. The expression he wore wasn't one that Lois had seen on his face before and while she couldn't place exactly what it was, it was definitely guilt-inducing. If she had to put a name to it, it was like a mixture of concern and disappointment flavored by anxiety.

"You could have _died_." he said.

And his tone punched her in the gut, thick and heavy with worry.

For a second, it was absurd that anyone would could be so worried about her until Lois's mind back-tracked over itself and she remembered that this was how decent people acted. Decent people actually got anxious and concerned when someone had just dodged a near-death experience and how many had she been through since Clark had been assigned to shadow her?

Three where Clark had been there to help her out, the fourth he had witnessed. There was another three that she hadn't been bothered to tell him about. She had gotten herself out of them no problem. She could swim. She could dodge. She could climb. She could fight back and worm her hands out of ropes and cuffs, as long as she had a few minutes. But...

This most recent one. There was no way she could have saved herself from falling off the side of a building. She couldn't fly. She wasn't indestructible. She couldn't bounce. No parachute. No glider suit. No way to save herself. She wasn't a meta. She was a regular vanilla and extraordinarily fragile human being who might have been jelly on the pavement if it hadn't been for Superman.

Clark was right.

She could have _died_.

"Sorry."

The word slipping out of her mouth surprised her as much as it did Clark.

"For _-_ \- what?" he asked tentatively, not sure he had actually heard it.

"Apparently, for scaring the fuck out of you, Smallville." Lois said, regaining a measure of her usual cocky confidence and started grinning. She reached around with her right hand and punched him lightly on the arm. "So yeah, next time I see Superman, I'll thank him for snatching my ass out of the air like that."

"Ah _-_ -" Clark felt a pink blush in his cheeks and he rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn't sure there'd _be_ a next time for Lois Lane and Superman, but maybe it would behoove him to put in one more appearance in the cape so Lois could say her bit. "Well, seeing someone I care about in danger like that is going to scare the fuck out of me, hands down."

His pink cheeks were nothing compared to the color that Lois's turned. Underneath all the bruising and the make-up, they flushed a considerable red and her eyes widened to hysterical proportions. For a moment, Clark wondered it she was about to punch him for real. Then she looked away and grumbled something under her breath that sounded an awful lot like: " _Fucking flirting farm boys..."_

 _I wasn't flirting, but if that's the way she feels..._ Clark let himself have an amused smile. Hard and prickly around the edges Lois Lane was, but there was a soft center in there somewhere.

 _This might just work out over the long term._ He thought optimistically.

He leaned towards the window, peering out at the city-scape ahead. The Slums lay before them. The train would skim the edge of it and make its stop at the Centennial Park station; the Metro Transit Authority had routed trains out of the area in order to prevent vandalism. It had been a well-intentioned gesture, but Clark felt that the absence of the trains had only hastened the neighborhood's decline.

The closer they got, the more Clark saw that the Suicide Slums would look every bit like what he had imagined. Dark and overcrowded. Tenement apartments and crumbling walls. Bad sidewalks, worse streets. Maybe not the West River sort of hopelessness, but a definite sense of apathy.

Like a tiny slice of Gotham had found its way into the shining City of Tomorrow.

"What's our first stop when we get in there?" Clark wondered.

"Huh? Oh, the police precinct." Lois answered. "First thing we've got to do is find Officer James Harper. He's pretty much the only officer on that side of the line willing to patrol the Slums on foot. Streets are pretty narrow; not good for vehicle traffic."

"I thought the downtown precinct handled most of the calls coming out of the Slums." Clark commented. When Lois had given him the run-down of which precinct did what where, he had gotten the implication that the Slums was mostly controlled by the downtown boys.

"Yeah, because the Slums precinct is hideously understaffed. They need at least a hundred people on staff, at minimum, to be effective, but I don't think they have more than sixty." Lois explained. "It's not really a nice area for cops either."

Clark nodded. Officer Harper must have been fairly well trusted in the neighborhood not to be a dick-ass cop. He probably didn't get through a day entirely unmolested, but at least he went home at the end of his shift.

However accidentally, the Slums appeared to have been cut off from the city. A line of track ran the perimeter of the neighborhood, but while the other tracks passed at about thirty feet above street level, the Slums perimeter track was half that. Fifteen feet; just enough clearance for what few tractor trailers made their way into the neighborhood.

The streets did a funny thing too; zig-zagging right and then left as though they had originally been constructed around existing buildings and no re-zoning had ever occurred to correct the short, sharp corners. It almost seemed a deliberate design so you couldn't see down into the Slums at a casual glance.

There was also a noticeable downhill slump. The neighborhood did sit at a slightly lower elevation that the rest of the city, making it the first area to flood.

"Charming." Clark commented, as he got his first real look at the place from street-level.

"In its own way, I'm told." Lois nodded, pulling her coat a little tighter. "I should mention this place really isn't good for reporters either, so don't act like one."

"Shouldn't I be telling _you_ that?"

"Hush you."

The streets looked as though people had gone at them with their snow shovels rather than an actual plow. The snow had been cleared to the side, but the effort put in looked clumsy and inadequate. Very little road salt went down here, so there was a thin crust of white still covering the surface of the road.

Clark didn't think the neighborhood looked nearly as... as _neglected_ as the West River. Here and there, there was evidence that people were making an effort. Coatings of paint less than a year old. Plastic sheeting over broken windows. The door locks all looked like they were in good repair, many of the security systems intact. Someone was trying, at least, which was more than he could have said for the West River. There were actually people around, going about their day, and even a handful of children who were definitely old enough that they should have been in school right now.

"Have they ever tried to gentrify the Slums?" Clark asked. He didn't see any sign of reconstruction attempts.

"With how many people committed suicide around here, I don't think there was much of a push for it. Too many bad memories, I guess." Lois commented, raising her eyes to the crisscrossing skybridges that connected what once must have been office buildings. "People don't like talking about it. _Especially_ Perry. His dad jumped from one of these buildings."

A chill feeling washed over Clark. "Oh."

"Yeah 'oh'." Lois agreed in all sincerity. "I found out when I was trying to break out of being a cub reporter. Figured I'd write something up about the anniversary of the mine closure, make it good and shiny and irresistable to the wild editors, and someone told me that Perry knew a lot about it. I should have figured something was up when they giggled afterwards, but whatever. I haven't actually been scared of that man since. His bellowing over-stressed editor routine? _Nothing_ compared to what I saw that day."

She shuddered at the memory of Perry's anger. That frothing, foaming at the mouth kind of anger. The shouty, piss your pants because it might scare away the predator kind. Very little of it had been directed at Lois, though, as Perry had known full well that someone must have pointed her in his direction and woe betide the individual after Lois had given a name.

Then, as if to spite everyone, Perry had sat her down and told her about Jumping Week, during which two hundred people had jumped from thirty-story windows in despair. On that same note, it was indeed that same article that had been her big break.

"C'mon, precinct's just up there." Lois said, gesturing up the block to a building with two old-fashioned light posts at the base of the entry stairs. "Let's see if Officer Harper's on shift today."

* * *

Agent Jason Trask of Bureau 39 was a stupid man in several regards. Rampaging misogyny aside, he had such a sense of entitlement that he did not believe that he could fuck up. He had been left to his own devices for too long, not answering to authority as often as he should have been forced to. No one had regulated him outside of pulling him free of legal entanglements. He had no developed sense of boundary. No idea where his jurisdiction was supposed to end.

He did not have the little voice in his head that told him when he had fucked up.

That was the sense that General Lane got from the agent standing at attention in front of his desk.

General Lane didn't drink very much, but in the wake of this morning's near-disaster and the fact he could have been minutes away from planning Lois's funeral, he felt that a shot of whiskey was the only thing that would go down smooth.

He ignored Trask as he stood up and made his way to the other side of the office where he kept a small liquor cabinet. Some of the officers he met with did enjoy a glass of good alcohol and it was good manners to keep some social lubricant around.

 _Look at that stupid little smile he's got. What does he think I'm about to do, shake his hand for throwing my daughter off a roof?_ The general wondered, his mental tone decidedly savage.

He poured a small amount of whiskey into a ball-glass tumbler and then went back across the office to stand in front of Trask. Staring the man straight in the eye, he threw the entire thing back in one gulp. Then he set the glass down on his desk, adjusted his sleeve, and walloped Trask across the mouth.

The crack of flesh on flesh was very satisfying.

"You fool!" the general roared, towering over Trask when the agent crumpled halfway to his knees from the impact. "You fucking fool! The absolute carelessness of your actions is going to cost us everything!"

He swung a hard backhand from the shoulder, relishing the feel of his knuckles slamming into Trask's nose. He especially enjoyed the feeling of cartilage giving way.

"Your rampage for the Prometheus was something I could ignore! Your over-zealous behavior was annoying, but I could ignore it! But bringing _my daughter_ in like that?! Trying to kill her?!"

"She knows too much! She dug too deep!" Trask shouted through a hurting nose and aching teeth. Blood dripped onto the front of his shirt, dribbling over his upper lip.

"So you decided to throw her off a roof?!"

"Technically, she pushed me off _-_ -"

"I don't care if she knows too much! She's my daughter and therefore, my responsibility!" General Lane roared. "I warned you to be careful around her! I told you she's a reporter to the marrow of her bones! I warned you that she would destroy you if you gave her an opening!"

He grabbed Trask's blood-dotted collar and dragged him close until they were eye to eye.

"And now I'm going to let her." he hissed.

"You'd hang me out to dry? Just like that?!" Trask asked, frankly disturbed that his safety was being so carelessly tossed aside. "What, my decade-plus years of service doesn't mean a thing to you anymore?!"

General Lane let out a chilling growl that abruptly reminded the agent why they called him 'Bulldog Lane'.

"Listen to me, you small-minded whackadoodle. I bartered for your position because we needed someone ruthless in the leader's chair. Someone who didn't give a flying fuck about the so-called humanity of metahumans. You were perfect for the job, because in all my years, I hadn't seen a man give less of a fuck than you. The problems started when you went to Kansas looking for aliens."

And that had been the breaking point in what should have been a long and storied career in meta-human suppression. Five months Trask had spent trying to trash a small farming town in a crusade for the supposedly dangerous alien life-form that had touched down in the corn fields. He hadn't been wrong. There had been something there after all. But five months spent ignoring more than a dozen other assignments and reports in favor of a high schooler who may or may not have lifted the back of a car over his head. Trask claimed it was a bus, but General Lane was more inclined to think the vehicle in question was a lot smaller and that a freaky adrenaline surge was not outside the realm of possibility.

Trask didn't.

But they had still needed Bureau 39 even in the wake of that PR disaster and they hadn't found anyone adequate enough to replace Trask. His job was secure by dint of there being no one else.

Fortunately, the pickings were superior this time around.

"You have been _obsessed_ with this ridiculous Prometheus creation of yours ever since! It had effected your job performance to such an extent that I can no longer trust you to complete a single assignment to satisfaction." General Lane growled. "Remember that you did not come to Metropolis under my orders, but instead were following one goddamn Kansas farm boy named Clark Kent and you still have offered me no proof that he is in any way this Superman! At this point, I am rather inclined to thank him and perhaps absolve him of his perceived crimes for rescuing my daughter not once but twice from situations you helped engineer!"

He released Trask's collar and backhanded him a second time. Already on his knees, Trask fell to the floor under the blow, blood dripping from his mouth. General Lane stepped back and resumed his previous calm composure.

"Agent Jason Trask, you are hereby terminated from Bureau 39, effectively immediately. You are stripped of all legal protection. Your access to your bank account is suspended. Your criminal record will be released in full pending formal termination. Please leave your badge and your service revolver on my desk. You will be remanded to the holding cells pending a trial _-_ -"

"You're _firing_ me?!" Trask roared in indignant outrage.

General Lane gave him a mild expression. "Yes. That should have been obvious from the end of my first sentence."

"You can't do that!"

"I shall give you a copy of the employee manual, so you can assure yourself that I can. This system demands accountability. I provide it."

"You can't replace me! I'm invaluable!" Trask shouted. "You know how well I do my job! If you get rid of me, your precious system falls apart!"

"Fortunately for us, the system is one of your own making. I had nothing to do with it." General Lane said calmly. "Before I have you escorted away to the cells, I think you should meet your superior replacement. Come in." he called in the direction of the door.

The door opened and in walked what amounted to Trask's worst nightmare. A black woman strode into the room with every bit of poise and confidence she could eke out of her three-inch heels. She was thick-set and heavily built. "Fat" wasn't the word to describe her. "Fat" implied unhealthy and unnecessary bits of flab clinging to her bones like leeches. No, on this woman's body, every inch of thickness was solid muscle, from the broad shoulders to the wide hips and thick thighs that looked like they could be responsible for the death of men. She had a presence that was four times her physical size, strong and unyielding and otherwise standing firm even in the face of the proverbial battering ram.

She **was** the proverbial battering ram.

And she looked down at the now-deposed head of Bureau 39 with such a haughty expression like she didn't find him worthy to lick the soles of her shoes.

Her entire presence rang with warning bells. A nice suit, pinstripes and pencil skirts, her dark hair pulled back in neat bun. Not too dangerous at a glance. But it was in her eyes, her posture, her walk. There was something oddly calculated about the way she put her hands on her hips. Her fingernails were lacquered a dark bronze and Trask couldn't ignore how long and shaped they were. Those were the kind of nails belonging to the sort of woman who wouldn't have too many compunctions about driving them into your skin or your eyes.

On the floor, Trask felt appallingly vulnerable.

"Mr. Trask," General Lane started and the absence of 'agent' helped to drive home the point he was nothing but a civilian now. "Meet the new director of Bureau 39, Amanda Waller."

Waller held herself up in a lofty manner, as though she was looking down at Trask from a great height and still found him lacking and insignificant.

"Now," she started, her voice like black velvet. "Just what are we going to do with you?"

* * *

-0-


	29. Hurricane Lois

Not gonna lie and gonna remind everyone: I finished writing this story pretty much a year ago (almost to date). So for anyone who might have been looking forward to an extended appearance from Amanda Waller, I apologize in advance. Last year, I didn't have a very good handle on her character and didn't feel I could do her justice, so her role in this story remains limited.

However, since the last two chapters of Formation (story 3) are up for an extensive re-write (and thank you Suicide Squad), I believe she may have a prominent place in the climax.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Hurricane Lois

The pattern of bright sun and cold wind held on through Thursday. The morning progressed towards the afternoon with no discernible difference in the temperature outside. It was still the same sort of cold when Lois made an eleven-fifteen run outside for a form of coffee that hadn't been stewing in the break-room since five that morning and it might have been chillier an hour later when Cat Grant breezed back in like a make-up crusted hurricane.

"Lo-o-is!"

While her name was trilled out, Lois rolled her eyes and wished she had the ability to become invisible. Or the ability to turn into a really good chameleon. She would settle for either one.

Cat Grant, gossip columnist. It showed in every move she made, every word she spoke. She was well-paid to be clad in the latest designer wear to blend in with the glittery crowd. Nothing off-brand or just close enough. One hundred percent genuine. She was seen so often at the most prolific parties of the year that designer labels literally paid her to wear their newest clothing line, just so she could show it off to those with fat wallets. Her heels were never lower than three inches and her hemlines were never quite as modest as they should have been. Her mind was deeper than it looked, but you still had to get past the vapid bubbliness, the consuming obsession with celebrities and the glitterati, and the preoccupation with sex and other Bacchanalian desires first to find what made Cat Grant a meaningful person, and there was quite a lot of that to wade through.

She considered Lois a friend.

Lois honestly wasn't sure how that happened, seeing as she had done everything in her power to try and convince Cat that she wasn't someone a gossip columnist oughta be friends with. She had dragged up every bit of rough scrappy army-brat in her arsenal and doing everything possible to make herself seem unappealing, but that had just convinced Cat that Lois was clearly in need of a fashionable best friend who could straighten her out.

Like the well-meaning but overbearing big sister she didn't want.

"Lois! How are you!" Cat descended on the investigative reporter in a whirlwind of perfume.

"Fine, Cat." Lois grumbled, submitting to a hug that was as constricting as a python. She returned it half-heartedly. The problem with Cat was that she was earnest and Lois couldn't find it in herself to properly chase her off.

"Lois, girl, I think you're losing weight." Cat informed her, pulling back and running her hands over Lois's shoulders. "You're already skinny enough. You don't need to be dropping any more pounds."

"Maybe it's muscle. I do a lot of walking around the city." Lois said, shrugging the hands off.

"What on earth happened to your arm?!" Cat gasped, noticing the cast for the first time.

"You've got to catch up on the local news. It's wild." Lois replied, running her fingers self-consciously over the cast for a moment. "So how was Europe?"

Cat had spent the last month or two strutting around Europe, recording the scandalous things that celebrities got up to, as per her job. It was the one part of her work that Lois envied. Cat got to travel the world on someone else's dime and she always had a few days off from stalking the rich and famous to take in the sights. She always came back with a good supply of pictures and souvenirs.

Normally, Cat blurted out everything she could about her trip as fast as she could, but this time, she smiled secretively and perched herself on the end of Lois's desk.

"Don't tell anyone, Lois, but I wasn't in _Europe_. It's a secret." she said, leaning close to the other woman's ear.

"Oh? Do tell, Cat." Lois requested. And normally, she wasn't interested in the scandalicious affairs of the glitterati, but this time her interest was piqued. Cat would tell her. The nature of her job sort of ensured that Cat couldn't keep a secret.

"Well, as you know _-_ \- Or perhaps you don't." Cat looked over her critically, as if gauging her ability to follow gossip. "Well, I guess this is old news anyways. No one has laid an eye on Bruce Wayne ever since he left Gotham _-_ -"

"I _do_ know that, Cat." Lois interrupted. She had been in high school back then and the news of what was going on in Gotham had dominated the gossip vines until winter break. "He left the city with his butler in January 1999 and no one's heard from him since. What does that have to do with you not being in Europe?"

"I was asked to find him. Since I can find anyone." Cat said proudly.

"And did you find him?" Lois wondered. If she hadn't, it would be one hell of a shock. Bruce Wayne had evaded nearly all forms of detection except for half-certain glimpses that no one could confirm to satisfaction. Quite honestly, the only thing the media could confirm was his butler's ongoing contact with Van Derm Construction in Gotham to have a new house built on the family estate.

But the gossip columnist had an uncanny knack for stringing rumors together into a coherent picture.

"Of course I did. Who do you take me for?" Cat made a huffy noise of impatience. She looked like her namesake had gotten the canary. "Some movie makers in Gotham are going to release a documentary in 2008 for the tenth anniversary of the Waynes' death and they wanted to get Brucie's take on the whole thing."

Lois raised an eyebrow. "'Brucie'? Tell me you didn't actually call him that to his face."

Cat giggled. "It suits him so much. He's grown up so wonderfully." she said, looking back on the memory with great appreciation. "From cute little boy to handsome young man. I don't know what he was doing in China, but it's working for him. You should have seen his arms _-_ \- Oh! Those shoulders!"

She shivered up and down. Lois pulled a face.

"Cat, isn't Bruce Wayne sixteen or thereabouts? And aren't you twenty-nine?"

"Twenty- _six_."

There was no point in reminding her that she had been 'twenty-six' for the past three years.

"Doesn't matter, you're still like _ten years older_ than him. He's still a minor. That's illegal in most places." Lois pointed out. There were those Bacchanalian desires that sometimes reared an ugly head.

"I can still look."

"Pretty sure that's illegal in some places too. He's _sixteen_."

"Age is a number, Lois."

"And _age of consent_ isn't a guideline."

"I always ask before drinks if they want the night to end in sex and I always have protection."

 _Oh for the love of..._ Lois groaned and let her face fall in her hands. She often got the sense that Cat Grant had been the wild, untamed party girl through high school and college, happy to drink and dance until dawn and indulge in carnal delights with any guy who gave her a thumbs-up.

In contrast, Lois had spent most of her college nights bent on passing her classes, right up until her father had yanked her out and tried to make them be a family again. But that was hard to do when General Lane couldn't communicate with anyone who didn't wear a military uniform and little Lucy been growing up way too quickly to really want anything to do with her distant older sister.

It had been like watching a semi-truck jack-knife into an already T-boned car.

Cat clicked her fingernails together impatiently and looked down at Lois with an air of vague superiority. "Well then, maybe I should look a little closer to my ballpark." she said, her eyes roaming the newsroom.

Lois could pinpoint the exact moment she found someone aesthetically appealing and she had a very shrewd guess as to whom Cat might have spotted. She looked over her shoulder and sure enough, there was Clark Kent, eyeing the copier like one might eye an angry rattlesnake.

"Who's the new wide receiver?" Cat wondered, her voice dropping to a sensual purr.

"Why don't you throw your usual forward pass and find out?" Lois suggested dryly. Then it occurred to her how Clark might react to Cat's 'usual forward pass'. Emphasis on 'forward'. More forward than Lois ever wanted to be. "Actually, no. Don't."

"Hmm, why not?"

"Because I saw him first."

Cat's eyes went wide and round very quickly. It took a second for Lois's brain to catch up with her mouth and a flush of embarrassment nearly overtook her. But she quickly buried it and sat up straight, looking the other woman in the eye challengingly.

"Lois, girl..." Cat appeared momentarily at a loss for words, shaking her head slowly in simultaneous disbelief and approval. Her eyes darted between the smirk Lois was wearing and Clark by the copier (he may or may not have been aware of the conversation taking place), then she wiped away a mock tear.

"I am so proud of you, girl." she said with a dramatic sniff. "You made a move, you're all grown up, that's my girl."

"Don't take it the wrong way, Cat." Lois informed her. "What I meant to say is that he's a rube hayseed from Tiny Town, Kansas and he's about as vanilla as they come. Perry had him shadow me his first week and then he made us partners, mostly because I haven't killed him yet and have no immediate desire to. It'd be like shouting at a puppy. His name's Clark Kent."

"Snappy name. I like it." Cat declared. Disappointment flitted briefly across her face. "Nothing happened between you and him? Not even a little kiss?"

Lois shrugged. "He's a gentleman. Doesn't violate personal space or make crude comments and got all flustered when I _might have_ suggested that we make out." she said. It had been a spur of the moment comment she didn't regret and totally worth watching Smallville practically break every blood vessel in his face and suddenly have no idea what to do with his hands.

Cat tilted her head. "He doesn't look like much." she commented. "You sure he's a catch?"

"His shirts are too big. I accidentally caught him in his pajamas once. It was beautiful. Also, you should have seen him when I got him into something that was a closer fit. There was a lake involved." Lois said pointedly. No, she had not gotten to see Clark shirtless, but she had admired the results of a better-fitting shirt.

"Make up an excuse to grope his arms." she suggested.

"Firm?"

"Like the mighty oak."

Cat's smile turned positively Cheshire-like and her whole body shook with a silent giggle, and she started eyeing Clark up from a distance. For his part, Clark didn't notice; he was too busy trying to figure out the copier (it was brand-new and had too many buttons and he wasn't the only on having trouble figuring it out).

Lois couldn't help a responding smile. It was hard to talk seriously with Cat, but sometimes she just didn't want to talk seriously. Sometimes, she just wanted vacant blithering occasionally punctuated by words of wisdom. Shameless discussions about muscles and men and the attractiveness thereof and whether or not they would regret it in the morning.

"I certainly missed out on the excitement while I was away." Cat commented, fanning herself with today's copy of the _Planet_. "You found yourself a tree to climb, an anomalous lightning storm over the city, and Shirley Woodson went skinny-dipping in the reservoir, can you believe _that_ made the front page, honestly _-_ -"

"Wait, what did you say?" Lois interrupted, frowning.

"Shirley Woodson went skinny-dipping in the reservoir." Cat repeated. "Drunk, of course. She's too modest to do it sober and you'd _have_ to be drunk to do it at this time of year and I _think_ there might have been a guy in there with her. She's in the hospital now, as you can imagine. Hypothermia's not the way to go _-_ -"

"No, about it being on the front page!" Lois snapped.

Cat sniggered. "Oh Lois, don't you read the paper at all?" she asked, holding up the front page. Right underneath the header was the banner headline and a picture of a bedraggled looking Shirley Woodson being loaded into an ambulance.

On the front page.

It was on the _front page_.

Top headline.

Top billing.

On the front page.

Right where her article was supposed to be.

Lois saw red.

" _PERRY_!"

When his name was screamed out across the newsroom like bloody murder, Perry stopped tensing. He would be lying if he said he hadn't expected Lois to come stomping in. He had just expected her a lot sooner than fifteen minutes before lunch break.

Lois stormed into his office a moment later, steaming mad with today's _Planet_ crumpled in her fist. She stomped impressively in her high heels, right up to his desk, and slapped the paper down.

"I'm risking my neck to write about shady government organizations and their insane directors demanding the execution of harmless people and mafia queens with designs for Gotham's sister city and what makes the front page!? Some gossip-column, alcohol-sodden, stupid skinny-dipping little idiot who was brainless enough to get herself into that mess!" she roared.

Perry didn't blink. He laced his fingers together calmly. He had borne the brunt of Hurricane Lois enough times that he knew how to withstand the battering.

"I didn't put it on the front page for the exact reason that you're risking your neck." he said plainly.

"You didn't even put it in the paper!"

"And if I had, it would have been in front of the obituaries."

"That's what you're trying to tell me?! That I shouldn't be pursuing this story or I'll end up dead?!" Lois snapped.

"I couldn't think of any other way to say it." Perry admitted, shrugging.

Lois wanted to scream _'If you're going to tell me something, say it to my face'_ , but she held it in. Just barely; it was a near thing. She hated it when people went around behind her back; tried to get cute and clever and be sly. It was annoying. She preferred to be upfront and she rather expected it from others.

"What happened to the Perry White I read about in high school? The Perry White who was never afraid to stand up and speak out about the crime in this city and the people putting it there?!" she demanded.

"He heard that one of his ace reporters was thrown off the roof of this very building the other day for the express purpose of having this very article not published. He was also informed that this same ace reporter might have a bug spying on her computer." Perry replied, deliberately keeping his voice bland to show how much Lois's anger and indignation didn't faze him. "Blame Kent, if you want to blame anyone. He got cold feet and asked me to pull the story. He was worried about you."

"Smallville blabbed and you killed my article?!" Lois howled in outrage. Anger flared to greater heights, but she wasn't sure who it was aimed at anymore. At Perry for killing the article, or at Clark for getting chilly feet over something she had told him in all confidence. Strictly off the record.

"We were both looking out for your safety, Lois. No one wants to see you get shanked." Perry pointed out, trying to maintain his patience. "This guy, Agent Trask? He's dangerous, Lois. You told me that yourself. I don't know how you uncovered half the dirt you found, but it's nasty stuff. If I had run your article on the front page or at all, there could be a sniper scope pointed into my office right now."

That was enough to make Lois feel chilled and she abruptly looked up to scan the buildings and rooftops visible from the plate-glass windows for anything suspicious. Colletta had helped her find some of the dirt that had gone into her editorial. The Key West incident had gone a lot deeper than just supposed fish people. Normal people had been held in his custody for being passing witnesses and they had ended up in the hospital for broken jaws, cracked ribs, and flail chest. The fracas in Central City had been difficult, as Mrs. Furie had buried most of the details and she hadn't wanted to bring up the memories surrounding her husband's death. But Trask had gone after more high schoolers than just the mentioned two. The others had been a little more willing to talk. Eager, even. Trask had gone as far as physically harming them when they didn't tell him what he'd wanted to hear. He had a long history of executing people on a whim, even when they had just about nothing to do with the situation.

Lois got death threats all the time, so hearing another one had never really fazed her.

Clark had already made her feel a little guilty for being so blasé about it, but hearing Perry express the same concerns about sniper scopes made the threat seem just a little more real.

The anger bled out of her.

"Okay... Okay, I get it." She backed away from the desk, raising her hands in a display of capitulation. "You're just trying to keep me out of the hospital."

"And out of a coffin." the editor-in-chief added. "Besides, you've had so many front pagers in the last year alone. I think it's time someone else got a chance to shine up there."

Lois scowled. "They say don't hide your light under a bushel, chief." she said. She was the top banana, goddammit. To kill her article... And it was such a good article too! She had found her voice again. The words flowed, the visuals were good, and she had popped out a few clever turns of phrases and no one was going to read it because it wasn't even in there!

This was not going to help her win the fight against Little Miss Warfield.

"Then you can help Kent out with the research on his article." Perry suggested. "I don't think the internet's proving to be his forte and you know more about the gangs in this city than anyone."

At the mention of Clark, anger slithered back in. It was lukewarm now instead of hot, but still potent. Clark Kent was the reason her brilliant and well-written editorial was sitting in the slush pile.

 _I'm going to have to remind him that I'm the top banana around here._ Lois thought. To Perry, she said: "I'll see if he needs the help."

Then she whirled around on her toes and walked out of the office, murder in her stride.

Perry heaved a sigh of semi-relief. "Threw the poor bastard to the wolves. Oops. Hope he likes carnations." he muttered.

Clark was still by the copier, but he had figured it out by now. That didn't stop him from watching the machine like a hawk that could see through walls to make sure it was doing exactly what it was supposed to do and wasn't about to experience a sudden paper jam.

Then Lois was in his face.

Like, eye-level.

Clark stood at a whopping six-foot-three, a good six inches taller than her and her heels. She wasn't standing on anything and no part of her body had spontaneously grown and neither had Clark shrunk. She was eye-level with him.

Unless it had something to do with the way his knees were slowly buckling and that hand hauling down on his tie...

The worst part was that Lois didn't say anything for a minute. She just glared at him with dark, smoldering eyes until his knees gave a singular quake and he thought he felt his bowels clench _just slightly_...

"Why did you go blabbing to Perry?" she demanded in a surprisingly calm tone. "I'm a grown-ass woman. What kind of gentleman are you thinking I can't take care of myself?"

"Um..." Clark wanted to tug at his collar. Why did his tie suddenly feel too much like a noose? "I was looking out for you? Is that a crime now? I just wanted to be sure you wouldn't get in trouble you couldn't handle."

"Oh, I can handle trouble." Lois assured him. "I've been handling trouble _well_ before you went gallivanting around Europe, you corn-huffer."

"Corn-huffer?"

Lois yanked down harder on his tie, bringing his forehead down to her eye-level. "So if you've acquired any worldly experience from breaking Russian laws, you'll mind your own damn business and leave me to mine!" she snapped. "I have enough problems with losing the front page to gossipy puff pieces without adding your well-intentioned interference to the mix!"

She pulled down on his tie one more time before releasing him. Clark stumbled back, catching himself before he accidentally crushed the expensive copier.

"Er... Sorry, Ms. Lane. I didn't know it was going to cause you problems." he said. This was going over his head. He couldn't claim to know much about what went on in women's heads, but he couldn't figure out why Lois was furious and indignant over the fact he had told Perry about Trask throwing Lois off the roof over that article. He knew what that man was capable of.

It seemed like one of those things that was very important to mention.

Lois wagged a finger at him, her angry expression flickering. "You know what the other problem is? You meant well. And I get it. Except that makes it really hard to be mad at you." she said, scowling so hard it put lines in her face. "And you have no idea how much I want to be mad at you right now."

"So..." Clark rubbed at the back of his head. "So you're actually not _really_ mad at me?"

The investigative reporter crossed her arms. "Not as much as I want to be." she huffed. She poked a finger into his chest. "Listen here, Smallville. I don't care how solid your chest is," Her tip of her finger rocked against the extraordinarily hard muscle hiding under the too-large shirt and she wished she had an excuse to just run her hand up that. "If you start beating on it and hooting like a dominant male, I _will_ rip your balls out through your mouth."

"I have no doubts that you will." Clark said in a kind of mad, blind agreement. He had only known her for a month and a half now, but he had the feeling that Lois was the type of person who followed through on her threats to the very best of her ability.

"I'm glad we're in agreement." Lois chirped pleasantly, the sudden smile too strained and too frightening to match her tone. "I think you're done doing whatever you're doing with the copier." she added.

"What? _-_ -" Reluctant though he was to take his eyes off Lois, Clark looked around over his shoulder to see that the copier was indeed finished. "Did you need to use _-_ -" he started, but when he turned back around, Lois had gone. The vague fragrance of her shampoo and body wash lingered in the air.

 _Huh, she uses freesia shampoo._ Clark noted absently.

He collected the papers he had copied and the originals and made his way back to his desk. His mind was buzzing by the time he sat down. It bothered him more than just a little that Lois hadn't even gritted out a grudging 'thank you'. He might have very well saved her from taking a bullet to the head and not even a hint of gratitude. Of course, some people just weren't that appreciative when others interfered with the best of intentions.

 _I didn't save her from a bullet so much as I interfered with her story. It's not really real for her, that she could get shot at._ Clark mused, watching Lois move between the desks. _I guess it's never happened to her before. She's always been lucky or something._

 _Maybe if I just-_ -

Clark caught himself before he could complete that thought, which he was certain was going to end along the lines of: _save Lois's life again and she'll be so grateful that she'll write a stand-up article about Superman doing the hero-things'_.

Where had **that** come from?

Why did he feel like that once he had convinced Lois Lane that he wanted to be a proper hero, the rest of the world would follow?

 _Because she's convincing?_ His mind wondered. _She has a way with words that makes you want to believe what she's saying. Like she's always trying to convince the world of the truth._

 _I guess that's just the way Lois is. A strong, independent woman who doesn't want to rely on anyone. Or be put into the position of relying on anyone._ Clark thought, watching her from across the newsroom. _She's fiery, kind of impulsive, bold, reckless, maybe a little short-tempered and worse than a dog with a bone._

And she was beautiful too. Thick black hair that was sleek and soft and it always smelled really good. Her eyes were blue, but also dark and colored with a tint of violet. Every time Clark had the opportunity to make contact with those eyes, he felt a flutter in his belly that skirted somewhere between attraction and nervousness and it really weirded him out.

But Lois... She was really something to look at and Clark had the feeling that if given the chance, he probably just stare at her all day and admire everything about her.

Meanwhile, Lois abused a stapler.

 _I think I might have a crush on her..._ Clark thought absently, leaning his chin on his hands while Lois beat the stapler against the desk until the jammed clip came loose. Then he realized that he was staring; realized what had just occurred to him, and put his head in his hands. _Oh no, Clark, stop. She's totally inaccessible. You don't stand a chance._

Well... If the way Lois kept hitting on him was an indication, he actually did stand a chance for at least one date. But one date could easily turn into two and the next thing he knew, he might be in a full-blown relationship that wasn't going to work because he was always keeping something back.

He couldn't really tell Lois that he had god-like powers of flight and speed and that he could shoot heat beams out of his eyes and was impervious to bullets. It wasn't something that he could bring up on the third date and he didn't know her well enough either.

In any case, he was an _alien_.

He wasn't entirely sure how his physiology differed from that of a normal, healthy human (yet. The A.I.s could tell him, but they needed to establish a baseline for a normal healthy human and they hadn't done that yet). What he did know was that he was essentially asexual. The Kryptonian body simply could not experience sexual arousal because it _literally_ didn't work like that anymore. The whole process had been evolved out of their genes through selective manipulation.

What if he was more susceptible to venereal diseases as a result? And what if he **did** somehow get a boner, like from a lot of Viagra, what then? Now it wasn't like Clark didn't know _how_ to have sex (he had done his reading outside of Smallville High's "Abstinence! No Sex Until Marriage!" sex education seminars), but if he ever got to that point, would it just be a pleasurable night of fun in the way sex was supposed to be or it would it be some horrible awkward mess of incompatible bodies? Because there was no way of telling exactly what happened to a Kryptonian during sexual arousal.

What if his body _didn't_ react the same way a human man's did? What if his penis actually turned bright purple and opened up like some nightmarish flower tentacle monstrosity? What if Kryptonians could only have sex at certain times of the year due to something like tides or planetary alignment? Hell, what if their reproductive cycle had once depended on a symbiotic relation with various aspects of Krypton's plant-life? Like literal sex pollen?

What if his sperm was biologically programmed to go into a hibernation mode in the absence of viable eggs? What if it just waited two weeks until the egg came trotting down the Fallopian tube and bam, there was a baby!

Would the combination of human and Kryptonian DNA produce healthy offspring?

Were humans and Kryptonians even genetically compatible?

Not to mention his own strength. Good lord, what if his control got away from him in the heat of the moment?!

Embarrassment wouldn't even begin to cover it.

He couldn't just turn off his powers. In fact, the A.I.s really had no idea why Clark had any powers at all.

Some of it could be explained, such as the speed and the strength. Krypton had been a large planet, roughly proportionate to Neptune and thusly a high gravity environment. Denser bone structure, fast-building muscle mass, and a larger heart and lungs to combat the stresses that were likely to occur. Even the flight ability had a root in his biology. Way back in the foggy mists of Then, Kryptonians (both the bipedal humanoids and the more animal-like ones) had evolved the spinal helix cords that Clark had seen in himself and Krypto and Dr. Sullivan. They were gravimetric generators, of a sort; functioning in a similar capacity as the cochlear in the inner ear. The helix cords allowed the organic beings to alter the gravity immediately around themselves. Not by much, but enough to further reduce the stress on their bodies.

In Earth's lower gravity, Clark still would have been stronger and faster and lighter on his feet. The programming for all that was written into his DNA and it wasn't going to change because he was on a new planet. But not the extent he displayed. Not to the point of controlled flight or supersonic speeds or easily lifting several tons of harvester combine.

The A.I.s were doing their research, but it would be a while before they could get back to him with an answer. Having been created by a pair of scientists, they were programmed to be thorough.

"Hey Smallville!" Lois was approaching his desk, her bag slung over one shoulder. "I'm going to lunch. Wanna tag along? I'll buy you a cookie."

"Um... I'm not hungry yet, Ms. Lane." Clark replied, wondering if the offer of a cookie was her version of the olive branch _-_ \- _sorry for snapping at you earlier, totally respect your good intentions, here's me trying to make up for it_.

"I'll buy you a cookie." Lois repeated staunchly.

"Again?"

"You like chocolate chip."

"Ms. Lane..."

"I'm buying you a goddamn cookie, Smallville, and you can't stop me."

"If you insist." Clark conceded graciously.

Lois shrugged her shoulders. "Of course I insist. Do you insist? Who the heck turns down a free cookie anyways?" she grumbled, the last bit more to herself as she turned to leave.

Clark squashed the smile until she was fully turned around, as it was one of those silly, fond ones that people normally reserved for adorable kittens or sleepy ducklings. He was half sure that if Lois saw that sort of smile on his face, she'd make him eat his own lips.

"Ms. Lane!" he called out impulsively.

Lois looked over her shoulder. "What?"

"Didn't- Didn't you mention something about not having Thanksgiving plans?" Clark asked, fiddling with his pen. "Because I was thinking... My parents are coming up for the holiday next Wednesday. I was wondering... if perhaps you might like to join us." he finished in a formal tone.

"Is that invitation coming from you or your parents?" Lois asked, looking a tad suspicious in general about the invitation. She really didn't get invited anywhere.

"All of us, actually." Clark assured her. "Mom and Dad want to meet you, but getting all the way up from Smallville isn't something they can do very often, so Thanksgiving sounds like it's going to be the only time."

"Your parents want to meet me." Lois stated, just to confirm that.

"Yes."

"Me. The person you've told them all sorts of horror stories about."

"They think I'm exaggerating."

That was sort of lie. Johnathan and Martha believed that Lois was fully capable of getting up to all the shenanigans she had gotten up to, but they were more amused than appalled like a sensible person would be.

For a second, Lois appeared to smile. Her lips certainly twitched in the right direction.

"Maybe I'll think about it." she said.

It was far from a promise. It wasn't like she could make it a promise. The Lane family hadn't celebrated a Thanksgiving in over a decade and Lois had admittedly lost her taste for it.

But it was the hopeful smile on Clark's face that made her consider accepting the invite.

She didn't. No, there was no sense in immediately agreeing, not when she still had a few irrational reservations about it. It was just the last time Lois had been invited to Thanksgiving anywhere, it had been with Colletta not long before they'd started dating and the Kanighers had been the religious sort who'd disown a sexual deviant at the drop of a hat and frankly, were not very tolerant people.

But the Kents were probably some really stand up people if their son was anything to go by and when Clark spoke of his parents, he did so with the greatest fondness whereas Colletta just kind of mumbled and groaned and tried to insist that she still loved them and cared about them, etc.

Lois left the _Daily Planet_ building and made her way several streets down to the Hoagie Hutt. It was kind of the greasy spoon of sub sandwiches where what you could buy would keep you full past dinner, but wasn't necessarily healthy. It was where the challenge special was a six-meat, nine-cheese, three-tomato, lettuce, garlic, spicy mustard, mushroom, four-inch thick, five-inch wide, and a foot-long monster lovingly called The Jabba (finish it in a hour, it's free, picture on the wall, and receive half-off discount on next purchase plus gift-card of choice), a regular favorite of macho male teenagers with something to prove.

Its lunchtime crowd never grew to spectacular sizes; there were other places in the city to get a better hoagie, although not at such a low price. Therefore, when Lois made to join the line to the counter, it was easy to spot her little sister standing a few people ahead.

Lois almost buckled over laughing and it took all her self-control just to not snort in amusement. Whenever people found out about Lucy Lane, their very first instinct was to assume that Lucy was the good sister. The well-behaved daughter. The golden child to Lois's problematic one. Lucy didn't get in trouble, they told themselves. Lucy indulged in none of her older sister's bad habits, they convinced themselves.

God, they were always in for a disappointment.

In a way, Lucy **was** the good sister and the good daughter. But only when she was put in comparison to Lois.

Grinning, the reporter made her way up the line to sidle in next to Lucy.

"Why dearest little sister, skipping school is very unlike you." she commented, and Lucy jumped guiltily. "And here I thought you were supposed to be the good one."

At thirteen years old, it was obvious that Lucy took after their father in terms of appearance. Her hair was a dark brown and she currently wore it in a long braid down her back. He eyes were a significantly brighter blue than her sister's and she had a sort of severe bone structure in her face that made her look constantly thin-lipped and frowning. Sort of a permanent neutral bitch-face.

In personality, Lucy most certainly took after their mother. Strong-willed, hard-headed, unbending, uncompromising, an iron sense of conviction, morals and ethics that were sharp enough to crack concrete. She was a comparatively subdued version of Lois (Lois could probably cleave the foundation of the city with her sense of conviction and morality if she really put her mind to it), but there was no doubting that she was a Lane.

"I'm not skipping school." Lucy said defiantly, crossing her arms. Then she shrugged. "Maybe. Okay, sort of."

"Sort of? You either are or you aren't. And since you're out here in downtown when your school's in North Bridge, you definitely are." Lois pointed out.

Lucy bit her lip for a second. "Don't tell General Dad that I'm actually on three days OSS. He thinks I'm in school today."

"You got a suspension? What for?"

"I punched out one of the eighth grade boys on the junior varsity football team. I made his nose bleed."

It was a struggle for Lois not to dish out a compliment. Her skinny thirteen year old sister didn't have quite the background in hand-to-hand since she had grown up off the base, but to hear that Lucy had decked a large fourteen year old boy made her absurdly proud.

"I don't advocate violence, but I hope you had a good reason for doing that." Lois said. "The way I see it, if you're going to punch someone, then they should at least deserve it. That doesn't mean you _should_ punch them," she added hastily. "But you should be able to justify it."

"He deserved it." Lucy said, nodding.

"Was he talking shit?" Lois wondered. The Lane family had something of a low tolerance for shit-talkers. Even if Lucy was 'the good one', she would still have her limits.

"He was talking shit about you." Lucy said. "He wants to be a reporter for the _Daily Planet_ after high school, but he kept saying that you weren't very good. So I punched him in the nose."

A grin spread across Lois's face completely unbidden but not unwelcome. Lanes were not good at suffering shit-talkers when they were ragging on family members. Lois might have been at odds with her dad, but she'd lay into the first person who criticized him too harshly.

Lois threw an arm around Lucy's shoulders proudly. "Atta girl. You can crash at my apartment for the rest of the day."

They moved through the line quickly and got their sandwiches and drinks. The Hoagie Hutt didn't have any customer seating on the ground floor because it was such a narrow shop space, but they did have the second floor decked out and it looked disturbingly like some brightly colored elementary school cafeteria.

"So, are you okay?" Lucy asked, nodding to the cast on her sister's wrist when they had settled at a window seat.

"Huh? Oh yeah, it's just a fracture. It'll be off in a couple of weeks." Lois assured her, biting into the meatball sub with a famished vengeance. The painkillers numbed the nerves in her wrist, but also killed her appetite in the morning so she didn't feel properly hungry until lunch.

"Okay. Dad wouldn't tell me anything what happened last Tuesday. He didn't even say you were involved." Lucy commented, squishing down her sandwich.

 _He wouldn't._ Lois thought darkly. The old man would still want Lucy to think somewhat positively of him by making sure she had no knowledge of what he really getting up to when the lights went out.

"He didn't know at first." the reporter lied. Lucy really didn't need to know General Lane's darker secrets. Not yet. Not before she even turned fourteen. "Look, everything that happened, you can read about on the _Daily Planet_ site. It's all right there in last Wednesday's edition, including my part. Ignore the picture. The picture's crap."

At least, her pulp-fiction swooning damsel pose wasn't the reason she had saved the picture and its accompanying article. It was a nice picture of the flying man. Probably the best one the city had. Such muscle tone...

"Educate yourself on the weird crap happening in Metropolis. It might get more common in the next few years."

Lucy blinked, frowning a little. "What makes you think that? There really aren't any metahumans around anymore. Yeah, there's that Zoom shit-head- I mean, that speedy little bastard in Central City..." She hastily corrected herself because she really wasn't supposed to be swearing. "But he doesn't count. The age of heroes is over. All that's gone. That's what everyone says."

"That's what everyone made themselves _believe_. That's what everyone wants everyone else to believe." Lois corrected pointedly. "And yeah, Zoom barely counted in the first place and he doesn't count anymore, but I'm trusting my gut on this one. This guy comes out of nowhere dressed up in those duds with the body of a Greek statue and for all appearances, _saves_ Metropolis. What are people going to think? What does that sound like to you?"

Lucy just shrugged, not actually sure what her answer was. Her knee-jerk response was indeed 'superhero'. But like her sister, she had grown up a part of a thoroughly jaded generation that didn't believe in the Superhero Effect nor that there would be anyone _dumb_ enough to start calling themselves that again.

"Another Scare?" she suggested off-hand.

"A possibility, I'll grant you, but I'm on my gut with this. It doesn't feel like this guy's gonna kick off a second Scare." Lois said, feeling weirdly assured of that. "Twenty years is a full generational cycle, little sister and I think it's all coming around again. Another age of superheroes. And I think this _-_ \- this Superman guy is just the way it's going to start."

* * *

-0-


	30. Chapter 30

A little late. Or: "I didn't realize it was Friday until it was almost Saturday". It's been a weird week.

Dat Supergirl season 2 anyone? Some strong-af Clois there.

* * *

Chapter Thirty:

It snowed the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Such a meteorological event hardly unusual for the latitude, but it did play havoc with the travel plans. Trains were behind, flights were delayed, and by mid-morning, over a dozen skid-offs had been reported on the M-26 out of Metropolis.

All delays aside, the Kents were predicted to arrive at a little past noon and the narrowing proximity to the target time was starting to make Lois nervous.

It was ridiculous that she was nervous about it in the slightest. Meeting new people never gave her even so much as an uncertain wobble. It was part of what she did! Going around kicking in doors and getting into stranger's faces to extract a story. She had no time to get shy or nervous about meeting new people, not when there was a story to be had!

But there she was sitting in the train terminal's waiting area with her stomach making anxious gurgling noises.

 _Oh for god's sake, Lane! It's just a pair of yokels from Smallville. Nice little country mice who probably still say 'aw shucks' and 'golly gee'._ Lois told herself, mentally clamping down on her nerves. _Admittedly, nice little country mice who brought up this heaping helping of grass-fed free-range American beef._

Her gaze slid discreetly sideways to Clark, thumbing through his phone as he read the weather updates. He was dressed the most casual she had ever seen him - she had caught him in his pajamas, of course, but that somehow wasn't nearly as titillating as the sight of his damn fine ass in a pair of blue jeans. And the flannel overshirt... Lois had never figured herself for being even distantly attracted to men in flannel, but Clark pulled it off like a rough and rugged logger mountain man who smelled like a Yankee Candle. He just needed a bit of a scruff around his chin and her aesthetic would be complete.

The first problem with Clark was obvious: It was that underneath his wonky farm boy veneer, he was attractive. Like, stupid attractive. Like, bang him into the wall attractive. But he tried to hide all of it under too-large shirts and bad ties, nerd glasses and a hairstyle that had gone out of fashion in the nineties. "Tried" being the operative word. When you were standing far enough away from him, the loser pizza-faced nerd impression was the first one you got. It was like camouflage, spotting someone who was only just this side of socially acceptable, but deciding not to risk it.

Get close enough, however, and it was like a magic eye puzzle coming together. Too close and no amount of gosh-diddly-darn apple pie farm boy would hide how seriously stupid-attractive he was.

Lois would be lying through her teeth if she tried to claim that she didn't feel at least a little tingle for the likes of Clark Kent.

 _Oh dear god, I'm like seventy-nine percent certain I'm sexually attracted to this farm boy. Enough that it's embarrassing and slightly shameful._

 _And I'm less than twenty minutes away from meeting his parents._

 _It's gonna be like 'Hi! I'm young, hot, single, and I sort of want to bang your son! How was your trip?'_

"Well, it looks like the train will be on time." Clark commented, looking up from his phone at last. He glanced over Lois's pink face and noticed the way her eyes seemed riveted on his shoulder. "Are you all right, Ms. Lane?"

Lois snapped out of it. "We gotta lay down some ground rules!" she almost shouted.

"Ground rules?" Clark repeated. Where had that come from?

"Yes!" She shifted in the chair to face him better. "If you haven't been paying attention, we are now in week seven. If you paid any attention to the gossip, you know that people don't last two days around me. But it's week seven and for some reason, you're still here."

"We are work-partners." Clark reminded her.

"And I've never had a work-partner stick around for three days in a row, mostly because they question my sanity." Lois pointed out. "But you're still here and with the shit we've been through together, I think you have earned the right to use my first name on a casual basis."

"So... It's now a ground rule that I call you by your first name?" Clark asked, just to make sure he was clear on that.

"Yes. Is that a problem for you?"

"No, no, of course not."

If Clark had been any less of a gentleman than what he had been raised, he might have brought up Lois's near complete lack of using his own first name, the fact she had slapped a nickname on him in the first five seconds, and called him 'farm boy' almost as much as she called him 'Smallville'.

But he _was_ a gentleman and he _was_ perceptive enough to recognize that this was how Lois kept an emotional distance from the people around her. Using nicknames made it seem, in her mind, that she wasn't getting attached to them so that when they went away, it wouldn't be so difficult to let them go. She had only used his first name a handful of times; when he was in trouble or if she wanted to get his undivided attention. He could hardly infringe on her comfort zone.

"Is there anything else?" he asked.

Lois took a deep breath like she did have a lot to say, but it fizzled out. "No, I think that's that it." she admitted. She was pretty sure they had ironed out the ground rules weeks ago, just not in such precise terms. Clark was certainly not a man prone to treading over boundaries.

Or make sexist comments.

Or leer at her chest.

Or go full Lombarde when he was talking to her.

Basically, a guy like Clark Kent wasn't a guy Lois had previously thought existed.

Men with basic human decency were a vanishing category.

 _I can't believe this man is a real person._ Lois thought, eyeballing Clark up thoughtfully. _He's a nice guy. Like an actual nice guy with manners and propriety and modesty and a healthy sense of platonic intimacy. I mean, this is what you_ _ **should**_ _think when you hear about those fedora-tipping m'lady Sir Knight gentlemen who defend women from other men because that's called being a decent human being. Instead you get those neckbeard yay-hoos soaked in Axe body spray and a toxic patriarchy thinking that if they just stick up for this one woman, they'll take the dude to the back room and get their freaky on._

 _And then Clark's just all 'Oh golly whiz Miss Lane don't mind me it was no trouble at all I thought you might like to finish them off may I hold your purse while you destroy them'. Or something like that._

 _Seriously, there needs to be a few more Clark Kents in the world._

 _Also, we ladies need to take back the fedora from those neckbeard ass-hats and make it awesome again._

 _Maybe I'll buy a fedora. I could totally rock a fedora._

For a moment, Lois entertained the intensely satisfying mental image of herself trashing the patriarchy while Clark stood by with her coat and her purse and a proud little smile on his stupid farm boy face and she about had to slap herself to get rid of it because Clark was looking at her with concern.

"Something wrong, Smallville?" Lois asked sharply.

"You just seem a bit distracted today. It's not really like you." Clark said. She was normally as focused as a laser-guided scalpel and if her mind did wander, it was usually succeeded by a Eureka! moment.

"It's the holidays. I'm allowed to let my mind wander off sometimes." Lois said, a touch defensively. She elbowed his ribs. "Why, what's on your mind? C'mon, I'm not the only one looking pensive, farm boy."

It was true. In between checking the weather updates and the fluctuating train schedule, Clark had been staring into the middle distance looking worried and thoughtful like he was trying to convince himself to be optimistic about something he had no precedent for.

"The test results came back positive." he said.

Lois frowned. "What test results?"

"The one Dr. Sullivan wanted done." Clark elaborated. "He got a colleague at S.T.A.R. Labs to do them so we didn't have to wait until January to get the results back and they are positive."

Lois sat up. "What, like a genetic test?"

"For determining parentage." Clark nodded. No such test had happened, in actuality, but there was only so much Lois needed to know.

"It came back positive? The guy's actually your grandfather?" Lois asked expectantly, excitedly.

Clark just smiled. He had known for a little while now and it still gave him a warm tingle of happiness. Because after eight years of wondering and waiting and questioning, he finally had a link to a people and a culture that he was supposed to have been born in to. He had someone who could tell him all about his birth-parents and his family. Yes, there was not a whole Dr. Sullivan could tell him about the culture because he was over twenty years removed and when you're trying to save either a planet or yourself, there were things you stopped paying attention to, but Clark had four hundred years worth of Kryptonian history ready and waiting for him to explore at his leisure.

It was something to smile over indeed.

"There ya go, Smallville!" Lois thumped his shoulder, looking proud like she had personally accomplished something. "And your birth-parents?

"Definitively deceased. We were _-_ \- traveling up from Oklahoma through west Kansas when those storms hit." Clark fabricated. The official story, if Lois probed deeper, was that they'd been heading up to Metropolis _-_ \- where Dr. Sullivan had indeed set up shop for a few years before moving to D.C _-_ \- for a family vacation with Granddad. "Sounds like I'm originally from Lawton, Oklahoma."

"Pfft, figures. Tornado Alley from the beginning." Lois nodded, settling back into her plastic seat and started to fiddle with her phone. She looked satisfied with what little information he had imparted.

Clark went to ask something, the words about to leap off the tip of his tongue before he reigned them in, wondering briefly if it was a good idea to say them at all. But after another second, he went for it. He would worry about the consequences later.

"I'm surprised you didn't have prior holiday plans." he said.

Lois glanced up from her phone. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well," Clark straightened his glasses absently. "I thought you might have wanted to spend Thanksgiving with your dad and your sister."

She had initially given him the impression that there was no family in Metropolis to spend the holiday with, until she had texted him back asking if she could bring her sister to the Kents' Thanksgiving.

"I honestly didn't know you had a sister."

"If you haven't noticed, Smallville, I don't talk about my family." Lois reminded him. "There really isn't anything _to_ talk about. There was a while there where Lucy and I weren't really getting along, but we're better about it now. We just..." She shrugged. "My dad's a terrible parent."

"Terrible?" Clark repeated uncertainly, for there were so many different connotations.

"No, no, it's not like he's abusive or anything like that!" Lois corrected hastily. "But he's one of those people who shouldn't be having kids because he has absolutely no idea how to parent like a parent. He parents like the military general he is and that's not really conducive to raising children. Mom balanced him out, but..."

"But she passed away." Clark realized. The rare moments where Lois had brought up her mother, it was always in past tense. "What happened? I-If you don't mind answering."

For a moment, Lois made a face like she had just looked down memory lane and reminded herself why she didn't do that too often.

"When I was fourteen, Mom came down with a pretty bad chest cold. She had asthma, so whenever she came down with any chest colds, she had to break out of the hospital-grade nebulizer. That same year, our bald overlord opened some waste processing plant using some of his new executive power, so I guess the added pollution in the air didn't help. The chest cold turned into bronchitis and then she got pneumonia in one lung right after the other. We had Thanksgiving in the hospital that Thursday and then Black Friday and..."

She trailed off, but it really wasn't necessary to finish. Black Friday was the day that Ella Lane had left this world behind. Lois's perception of the holidays had doubtlessly been soured ever since.

"I'm sorry." Clark said.

Lois shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, well... Can't say Thanksgiving has been a thing for my family since then." she muttered, staring at the floor. "But Lucy should get a few good Thanksgivings and if _you're_ offering..."

Clark smiled brightly. It was delightful watching every assumption people made about Lois Lane blow up. They liked to argue that she was heartless and stone-cold, but Clark had met a few people like that in his time. They were like that by nature, whereas Lois was like that by circumstance. She had had too many people attack her verbally, so she had put up the wall and only let a few people through.

People called her callous and a bitch because she wasn't open and warm and receiving to everyone like they thought a woman should be.

But there were people Lois cared about dearly and her sister was one of them.

"I can't believe you invited Colletta too." Lois grumbled, half in after-thought.

"She said that she didn't have any plans for Thanksgiving outside of the policeman's potluck. And my parents aren't picky, so I thought..." Clark trailed off, shrugging. The more the merrier and of course they would want to see that he was making friends in Metropolis.

He had indeed gotten Colletta's number off of Lois's phone and texted her once just to say hello. Colletta was one of those naturally sociable people who really only needed two seconds to warm up to a person if they were obviously the good sort, so just Clark saying hello was like opening a floodgate that had ended with her asking about his holiday plans.

Clark still wasn't sure if he had actually invited her, or if Colletta had invited herself and he'd just agreed to it.

"I don't know how she got clearance to bring Sergeant Trevor, though."

"Yeah, me neither."

Somehow or another, Colletta had obtained permission to get Steve out of the hole Met P.D. had stuck him in so he could have a proper Thanksgiving. Whether someone up high had owed her a favor or Lieutenant Sawyer had tugged a string or two (or the possibility that she didn't have permission at all), the officer wouldn't say. Either way, Steve was expected to be at the dinner tomorrow.

The station intercom dinged and everyone in the waiting area looked up expectantly.

" _The eight-forty train from Central City is now arriving at platform three. Repeat: the eight-forty train from Central City is now arriving at platform three. Thank you for your patience._ "

Clark heaved himself out of the plastic chair. "My parents should be on that one."

"You should text them to make sure." Lois suggested, getting up to follow him.

"Can't. They don't have cell phones."

"Am I allowed to make a face and complain that they need to get with the twenty-first century?"

"It wouldn't be anything I haven't already complained about. They just don't think they need cell phones because the landline still works and they've got video-chat on the laptop." He smiled a little strained. "I love my parents, but they like to be stuck in their ways. I think it amuses them."

"Out there in farm country, you gotta take what you can get." Lois muttered, half in agreement. Her dad wasn't so much as stuck in his ways as he was stuck in a rut. Despite when calling, texting, or emailing would have been much faster and more efficient, he turned up at the door instead to say his piece because he believed the face-to-face approach got the best response. Sometimes Lois suspected that he was doing it on purpose to inconvenience her, but too often General Lane acted like the very concept of a mobile phone was wholly offensive.

The station itself wasn't jam-packed with people waiting for their friends and family or waiting to leave; not at the very moment, at least. With weather delays across the board, the human traffic rose and fell according to the staggering arrivals and departures. At the moment, the proverbial tide was low so they easily made their way up to platform three where the train was pulling in, its brakes wheezing softly.

With Lois standing behind him, Clark nudged down his glasses and scanned the length of the train. He had been practicing. His X-ray vision was getting much more precise in that he was starting to see only as much as he wanted to see, so it wasn't a total struggle to find his parents halfway down the third car sitting with-

He grinned widely. _They didn't tell me they were bringing Pete!_

Good ol' Pete Ross, his very best friend since before actual memory, and his parents had likely intended to surprise him. Clark hadn't seen Pete in well over three years, not since he had moved to Edge City to sit on the county council. Whenever they had gotten the opportunity to speak, it sounded like Pete was beholden to a very busy schedule that kept him occupied from breakfast 'til bedtime.

 _But I've got him until at least Friday. Yes!_ He pushed his glasses back into place. _Nothing like catching up with an old friend._

The travelers started piling off the train in droves, hauling their luggage with them. Lois spotted the elder Kents before Clark had the opportunity to point them out. She didn't know what they looked like and Clark had never described them physically, but he wouldn't have needed to. She wasn't quite sure what made them so noticeable to her, but they just _looked_ like the kind of parents who raised a son like Clark.

They both must have been in their late forties or very early fifties. Johnathan Kent had a good-natured and weathered face that showed years of outdoor living, his brown hair beginning to give over to gray. Martha Kent had reddish auburn hair that was also starting to show some gray threads and a smile that was actually quite a bit like Clark's. But while Clark's smile made Lois feel weak at the knees and warm in the cheeks, this one made her feel like she had to apologize profusely for something she had done fifteen years earlier, like _confess all your sins and you will be absolved_.

It was, without the shadow of a doubt, a mother's smile.

Clark seemed to buoy up off the floor in response to it (if Lois had looked down, she would have seen that he was indeed standing a little too lightly on his toes) and walked forward with big almost-running strides. He hadn't visited his parents since first moving into his apartment, which had been something like five or six weeks ago now, and that was long enough.

And Pete _-_ \- Well, goddamn, he just hadn't seen Pete face-to-face in three years.

He gave his parents a smile and bypassed them in favor of his best friend.

"Pete!"

"Clark!"

They shouted at each other almost simultaneously and collided for a great big crushing bear hug and Clark had to be careful not to squish the smaller man. Growing up, they had been neck and neck for height, until Clark had practically woken up one morning late in sophomore year and found that he appeared to have grown five inches overnight. Pete hadn't reached his final growth spurt until midway through eleventh grade, but even those three inches hadn't caught him up to Clark's then five-foot-eleven. Now all of five-foot-nine, Pete had also never caught up to Clark in terms of sheer bulk.

"Surprised to see me?" he asked, grinning and thumping the much broader man on the back with a closed fist.

"Surprised in the sense that no one told me you were coming." Clark said, pulling back from the manly hug to give his parents a mock-angry glare. "But not actually surprised to see you."

"Ah, we tried." Johnathan shrugged, shaking his head while Martha giggled. Surprising Clark was very hard, when he could hear someone breathing from forty feet away.

"Alright, my turn. I haven't seen my baby boy in a while." Martha said, nudging Pete aside so she could embrace her son.

"It's only been a couple of weeks." Clark commented. His mother was only about as tall as Pete, so he had to bend down a little to properly hug her back.

Lois cleared her throat so they didn't not realize she was still standing there, feeling quite a lot like an outsider trying to attend someone's birthday party through a closed window.

She almost regretted it immediately afterwards, because all of a sudden, both Mr. and Mrs. Kent and whoever this Pete-guy was were all staring at her with a little too much curiosity.

Clark flinched a little. The moment hadn't gone on long enough for him to get caught up in it, but another thirty seconds and he probably would have forgotten she was standing there waiting to be introduced.

"Right," Clark stepped back over to her side. "Everyone, this is Lois Lane, my partner at the _Daily Planet_. Lois, my parents Johnathan and Martha. And my friend Pete; I told you about him."

"Hello Lois, it's so nice to meet you." Martha said, coming forward with an outstretched hand and a warm smile. "Clark has told Johnathan and I so much about you."

"Conversely, he has told me very little about you." Lois informed them. She tried to keep her tone light and joking, but it came out a bit tart all the same.

"Well, sometimes he can get stuck for words when he's around lovely young ladies." Johnathan said, grinning when his son let out a small sputter of protest, because _no_ it was still _not_ like that and it was probably _never_ going to be like that.

If there was a possibility that it could become a possibility, then it was located at the furthest point away from Earth.

Lois turned vaguely pink around the cheeks at what she hoped was a sincere compliment. _What the fuck has he been telling them about me?_ But not about to be put off by it, she turned to Johnathan for the customary handshake.

"Well, when Clark here _does_ talk about his parents, he's _super_ complimentary." she said. She felt like she was lying a bit; Clark really hadn't said anything beyond assuring her that he loved his parents and they were his parents regardless of where he had originally come from. That sentiment did say a lot, however.

"What has he told you about me?" Pete asked, coming forward to do his introduction properly. He was Asian-looking with dark skin like one of his parents was black and he was looking at her with a kind of flirty approval. Like he either wanted to flirt with her and was too aware of the polite company he was in, or that he absolutely one hundred percent approved of her being the one to date Clark.

"Pete Ross the aspiring politician?" Lois asked.

"Lowell County council today, Kansas state senator tomorrow." Pete grinned, showing movie-white teeth and executing a perfect politician handshake. "I'm currently the representative of District Four, speaking for the concerns of a postage stamp and a bent paperclip."

"Which one's Smallville?"

"The postage stamp. Midvale's even smaller and half as useless."

"Pete!" Martha elbowed him, her tone admonishing but her expression playful. "Midvale's not that useless; it has the granary."

"Delightful, sounds like a perfect place to spend a weekend." Lois commented dryly, a hand diving impulsively for her cell phone like she had felt it buzzing against her leg. It wasn't, but she grabbed it anyways and held it up like she had gotten a text. Because _that_ feeling was knocking against her ribs. This overwhelming itchy sensation of anxiety that urged her to escape from this situation.

And she already had a convenient out.

"I don't mean to cut this short, but I told my sister I'd pick her up from school and she's out in fifteen minutes." she said. Lucy's school was having a half-day and Lois had indeed promised to pick her up for the holiday weekend. "If the weather hadn't caused any delays, I would stick around for lunch..."

"Of course, we understand." Martha said graciously. "We'll see you tomorrow. It was good to meet you." she said again.

Lois muttered something that sounded distantly like an agreement and all but fled the platform.

"She seems..." Pete searched around for a charitable description, watching the reporter's retreating back.

"Nervous." Clark filled in. "I could hear her stomach churning all the way down the platform. She's normally more _-_ \- chill, than that."

Johnathan shrugged. "I would imagine she's not used to meeting people outside of a professional capacity." he reasoned. He clapped a hand on Clark's shoulder. "She does seem fairly nice."

"I thought there would be more snark. I was looking forward to the snark." Martha admitted.

"Ah, I suppose you'll have to wait until she warms up to you a bit." Clark figured. Or deal with her in a professional capacity. **Then** the no-nonsense attitude and minute amounts of snark would come out, instead of that nervous oddly stuck for words version that had just departed.

It was really odd and off-putting to see Lois nervous.

They gathered their luggage as it came out of the compartments and then set off up the platform towards the terminal for the local trains. They would have to take the D-line back to where it junctioned with the B, C, and J lines, and from there, it was a straight shot home.

"So what I **really** wanna know about is this biological grandfather you suddenly have that I had to hear about from your parents first." Pete said, reaching up to throw an arm around Clark's shoulders. It was an awkward reach, so he only did it for a second.

"Your mother and I would like a little more information on that too." Johnathan said. "You were stingy with the details, son."

"Well..." Clark shrugged and scratched the back of his neck. "I guess I was still trying to sort it all out."

He had told his parents about Dr. Sullivan almost as soon he was sure of the relation, but he had been quite bare with the actual details since that had happened before he'd gotten the full story from the Fortress A.I.s.

"Is he really from the same place?" Pete asked. "I mean, is he really your grandfather? Can he like _-_ \- y'know, fly?"

"Flight, speed, strength, both kinds of vision and infrared which I don't really have, just as indestructible." Clark assured him, grinning at the sheer novelty of at last having a shared experience with someone. "I just take more after my biological father instead of my biological mother, so the resemblance really isn't obvious."

"How did he find you?" Martha wondered

On one level, it was obvious how it could have happened as Clark would have a tendency to stand out no matter how hard he worked to hide what he could do. But at the same time, Clark had buckled down on keeping himself looking normal as his powers had grown in intensity.

"We found him, actually. Lois and I. We were researching a story and his name came up. He approached me later. When I say that I look like my biological father, what I mean is I could be his twin. Hang on..."

Clark felt around in his trouser pocket for the slick, not-quite-Polaroid photo that Dr. Sullivan had given him. It was originally a 3-D image that had lost some of its luster during the conversion to 2-D, but it conveyed all the necessary details and he presented it to his adopted parents. Jor-El and Lara stared almost cautiously out from the photograph, giving half-smiles like they weren't entirely sure if they wanted to smile fully.

"Wow, you could be!" Martha exclaimed while her husband let out a wowed whistle. "Goodness, did they just clone you from a strand of his hair?"

"Ooh, is that who I think it is?" Pete asked, reaching over Martha's elbow to point at the tiny infant in Lara's arms, piercing but otherwise bleary blue eyes looking sleepily at the camera.

"Oh, we have a baby picture now!" Martha squealed excitedly, shaking her husband's arm. "Johnathan, look! He's so tiny!"

"Look at that, he just _fits_ in the crook of her arm. You would never know he was going to grow up to six-foot-three just looking at this." Johnathan said, awed. "Do you know how old you were in this, Clark?"

"I think Dr. Sullivan took it just before he left the planet, so I don't think I was more than two months old." the twenty-three year old replied. "And I don't think Lara carried the pregnancy to full term either."

No Kryptonian woman had carried a pregnancy to term in something like two thousand years, mind, so Dr. Sullivan didn't actually know how long the gestation period was supposed to be for their people. Once the math had been worked out, it had been determined that Lara had carried the pregnancy for about eight months, Earth-time. Other pictures suggested that Clark had indeed been born a little premature.

Martha and Johnathan continued to coo embarrassingly over the photo as Clark led them to the turnstiles while Pete gave him looks that were halfway between sympathetic and _Sweet revenge!_. Judge Ross was a doting mother and a kind woman off the bench, but she liked to sit her children down when she pulled out the baby albums so she could recount the exact circumstances under which each photo had been taken and also repeat those stories to visitors. Since there were no baby pictures of Clark prior to his first birthday, he had been somewhat exempt from the embarrassing parent ritual.

Until now.

Sort of; there was no way they could show that picture to anyone without being asked if Clark's birth-parents had been members of a cult. The robe-like dress alone would have been met with raised eyebrows, never mind the ornate head-dresses.

But whatever, he could let his parents have this moment.

Pete was seething with more questions than Johnathan and Martha and he would have peppered Clark with them if they hadn't boarded the commuter train. Out of everyone who knew the truth, he had taken the most active interest in Clark's extraterrestrial-ness, even before they'd found out that he wasn't a meta like they had initially suspected. He had been such an avid star-gazer in their younger years that if a year on the student council hadn't given him a taste for public service, he might have gone to college with the intent of working for NASA and reaching Mars.

He was burning with questions now, Clark could tell. He wanted to know everything about Dr. Sullivan and why he was on Earth and what had happened to Krypton and he wanted the answer to every question he'd had for the last eight years that there were now answers to.

But they were on a public train and he couldn't so blatantly ask any of them.

Instead, he commented sourly on the state of the West River (the train depot was located north of the city across the Siegel River) and wondered who had let it get this bad in the first place. His sense of civic duty was appalled.

"It's always been like that, Pete." Martha informed him, much to his civic outrage.

"Actually, they're going to try and fix it now." Clark said, watching the crumbled buildings pass by. "There are plans in place and Mayor Kovac sounds like she's pretty dead-set on getting the demolition started by next spring."

"They'd **have** to take down the old buildings first." Johnathan commented, his eyebrows popping up when an entire window shutter unhinged itself from a building and fell as the train rumbled past it.

"Are they planning to shiny up the Slums too?" Martha wondered.

"There's a ten-year plan to clean up the Slums, West River, and Metrodale." Clark said. "They've already gotten started on West River. There was an initial push to restore the area a few years ago, but I don't know what stopped it."

"Politics." Pete said dryly. "Sometimes I hear the Edge City officials pissing about why they can't just spread grass seed over that ugly empty lot in the middle of the city. Like, how hard is it really to buy a sack of grass seed and distribute it across the lot? No, turns out that that empty lot is like a card in a poker hand. They won't put it into play until the most absolute crucial moment no matter how much of an eyesore it is. They hold it like an incentive or a threat. I still can't believe how much politics is about one-upping the other guy."

"I'll be sure to chronicle your career as you move up to president of the United States." Clark said.

"Alright, no business talk over the holidays." Martha instructed. "Now I grew up in The Old City. Is the clock tower still there? I used to climb it before they closed it to the public. It had such a nice view of New Troy."

"I think so. I hear bells sometimes that aren't church bells."

The train carried them past the site of S.T.A.R. Labs and across the Vernon Bridge. The tracks passed over St. Martin's Island while Martha pointed nostalgically towards the things she remembered as a girl and the things she hadn't seen before. She hadn't been back to Metropolis since graduating high school and that had been in the early seventies. She was a little alarmed at how far the Slums had tipped since her day; she could still remember when the copper mine had been open and functioning, and the mass economic panic that had ensued when it had closed, and when the Slums itself used to be called Copper Hill. She was even more alarmed at the state of Metrodale, for it hadn't hit its ghetto red light degradation until the early eighties.

At the Centennial Park station, they made the transfer to the J-train and set off south to Little Bohemia. The plan was to deposit their luggage at Clark's apartment and then eat lunch before hitting the grocery store to get the rest of what they needed for the Thanksgiving feast. Clark had already bought the turkey and the essentials for a few side-dishes, but for the large amount of baking that Martha would be engaging in for the rest of the night, she liked to use the freshest possible ingredients.

At the station in Little Bohemia, Krypto was waiting.

"There you are, you furry little bastard!" Pete cried happily as soon as he laid eyes on the big white dog, throwing his arms wide. "My favorite furry bastard!"

Obligingly, the wolf-like dog took him down in a slobbery pounce and crawled over him. Krypto's tongue ran over every corner of Pete's face, his tail whipping back and forth in excitement. Krypto hadn't seen Pete in three years either.

"Theirs is a special bond." Clark commented, watching the reunion.

It was a bit of an unusual bond, since Krypto wasn't like other dogs. He was smart enough that Pete didn't feel at all comfortable with treating the dog like he would another pet. Instead, Pete's big brother instincts had kicked in (he was the second of five children) and what had developed since was something Clark would liken to a sibling relationship.

"Is it me or did Krypto get bigger in the last month?" Johnathan wondered. It might have just been his imagination, but Krypto was quite a lot of dog and it was too easy to imagine that he was somehow getting larger.

"Oh, he's still a puppy, believe or not." came Dr. Sullivan's voice, the man himself striding towards them with a welcoming expression. "He's a _veze layo'sa_. Fully domesticated, sixty year life-span, but we never bred the size out of them. He should be forty-two inches at the shoulder when he's done growing, but that won't be for another five to eight years." He smiled even wider than before. "Krypton's atmosphere was a little more oxygen rich than Earth's. We grew 'em large there."

Clark knew what was going through his parents' heads while they stared, though he didn't think they were seeing quite what he had seen.

What the Kents saw was a glimpse of a life they might not have lived, but at the same, they also saw a link to the life Clark might have led if things had been just a little different out there in the night sky.

They saw a connection to something they weren't quite sure of, not sure if they really wanted to hear the maybes and the could-have-beens and maybe a bit of protective jealousy because Clark was _their_ baby boy and it didn't seem like Dr. Sullivan should be over there poking his way into their family dynamic, but that was a foolish thought. This man was Clark's family and that made him _their_ family too.

Martha blinked, her mouth opening in a few false starts before she said: "You look just like your daughter."

Johnathan nodded. "She's right, you look nothing like Clark."

Dr. Sullivan let out a booming laugh and came forward to clasp their hands in greeting. "Clark spoke extremely highly of both of you and I don't think that was just filial love talking." the engineer said. "You're good people, both of you."

"Well, he's a good kid." Johnathan said.

"No, I mean that." Dr. Sullivan said insistently. "You took in a child knowing full well that he was not of Planet Earth and raised him with all the love you would have given your own. I don't know many other races or species that would have done something like that."

"He was just a baby." Martha said, looking a bit flustered at the praise.

"I still mean it." Dr. Sullivan stated. "Johnathan and Martha Kent, on the behalf of both the House of Lor-Van and the House of El, I'd like to extend my deepest, _deepest_ gratitude and esteem for your boundless kindness and absolutely upstanding creditability. I would be foolish to judge the human race based on the pair of you, but I can't help but feel like we made the best possible choice, regardless of the hand that chance had in it. As patriarch and steward of the aforementioned Houses, I would award you Krypton's highest honor if we still had those to give out. You'll have to accept my fathomless gratitude instead."

"We'd take nothing more than that." Johnathan said, his cheeks hurting from the smile. Though he was the kind of man who tried to live a humble life, it was very relieving and very pride-inducing and very satisfying to know that their kindness was recognized and their parenting skills were exemplary enough that all the long-lost grandfather could do was gush praise.

In a way, they had saved Dr. Sullivan's only grandson and Johnathan would eat a bale of hay before he met a parent or grandparent who wouldn't be grateful for that.

Dr. Sullivan opened his mouth to add something, but his eyes found Pete right then standing at Clark's side with a humungous grin and an expectant glimmer in his eyes. His fervor for the stars had never truly vanished and oh, there would be questions a-plenty.

"Hi." Pete waved a hand. "I'm Pete."

"He's my best friend. He knows." Clark elaborated. "He was there when I accidentally lifted the back end of the car above my head."

"And I've been there ever since." Pete stated with such authority that it left no doubt whatsoever. "I have many, many questions. And it would make me a very happy man if you answered them."

Dr. Sullivan chuckled, looking quite amused and pleased and maybe a bit eager. "My specialty is engineering, so I won't know the answers to everything." he said. "But I should know enough to sate your curiosity."

He clapped his hands briskly and looked at the Kents. "So, I heard something about lunch. May I join you?"

Martha held an inviting hand out towards him. "We'd love to have you."

* * *

-0-

shameless self-promotion: read my star wars fanfic. all OCs but it need some love too


	31. Relapsing

I totally meant to have this chapter up last week.

Kitchen sink pipes are the devil's lower intestines. Holy shit you don't wanna know how long it took us to realize there was _mold_ down there.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-One: Relapsing

Thanksgiving Day dawned so bright and clear and sunny. It had a cloudless blue sky and a warm sun and barely a breeze on the air to stir yesterday's snowfall. The new layer crunched under-foot when Lois crossed the median to Clark's building, Lucy walking in her foot-prints.

It was a day of reckoning.

Okay, _not really_.

But she would be a liar if she tried to claim that she had any idea what today was going to be like. It would be the first real Thanksgiving Lois would have in some time. The first time in several years in which she would spend the holidays the way they were supposed to be spent instead of holing up in her apartment with turkey breast, rehydrated mashed potatoes, and previously frozen biscuits to accompany store-bought cupcakes.

With the _Kents_.

They were pure _farm_.

Clark's farm-charm was diluted from two years walking half the globe, but his parents hadn't left the homestead in years and it showed, at least to Lois's eyes. They were the flannel-wearing, hay-baling, boy-howdy, darn-tooting farm folk with homegrown apples in their pies and cow pats on their boots, tans that ended at their hemlines and a bow in their legs that showed they were no stranger to riding horses. Even their Kansas country drawls were thicker than Clark's, the vowel sounds drawn long and wide, the 'er' sounds squeezed for all they were worth, and the whole of it was almost frighteningly friendly.

Johnathan and Martha were good, polite salt-of-the-earth folk whose hospitality knew no bounds. They couldn't have been anything else for the way Clark had turned out.

Lois wasn't used to people like that.

Into the building and up the stairs, onto the fifth floor and she couldn't turn back now, not when Clark was expecting her and she didn't want to disappoint him or his parents.

"Hey, Lucy?"

"Hey what?"

"No swearing." Lois instructed. "And I mean that seriously. No swearing at all, especially not in front of Smallville's parents. You don't want to leave the wrong impression."

"Why, do you like them?" Lucy wondered. Her sister **had** to, because since when did she start caring about the impression she left on people? The sister who had purportedly nearly spat on a haughty-minded lieutenant colonel.

"No, but I have to work with Clark for the foreseeable future and I don't want him thinking poorly of you." Lois reminded her sister. She drew her shoulders back proudly. "And we're Lanes. That name has dignity, little missy. Respect it."

Lucy considered the words for a moment and then shrugged. Personally, she had never seen much in the way of dignity with their surname, not with Lois's record of self-inflicted near-death experiences and General Dad's prevailing pigheaded-ness making them look more than a bit foolish.

But she could indulge her sister this time.

Lois shifted the tin of cheesecake into one arm and reached up to knock on the door of Clark's apartment. Faintly, she could hear the sound of the television and a voice that sounded like it might have belonged to Colletta yelling about fouls and illegal tackles. The door opened and there was Clark all of a sudden, framing the doorway with a warm and welcoming smile and her brain went _Ah, the wild and elusive Clark Kent in its natural habitat._

"I know, we're a little late." Lois said, before he could say anything. "But I had to put a load of clothes through the wash before I could take a shower and taping this thing up every time is a hassle, I can't wait until they can give me the waterproof one." She reached back and dragged Lucy forward. "And this is my little sister."

"Ah, you must be Lucy." Clark said, holding out his hand. "It's nice to meet you."

Lucy initially ignored the hand in favor of looking him up and down curiously. It was only when she reciprocated the handshake that she said: "You look exactly like Lois described you. I thought she was joking."

"I hope I exceeded your expectations rather than came in below them." Clark said, standing back out of the doorway so they could come in.

"I can never tell when she's joking." Lucy said.

"That's 'cause I'm never joking." Lois stated.

They were late enough that they were the last to arrive. Nearly all of the food-prep had come and gone, the dishes cleaned and drying. A pot of potatoes boiled on the stove and the turkey sizzled and popped in the oven, looking close to being done, and there were loaves of perfect golden brown bread on the counter. The dining table had grown another four feet thanks to a matching extension and four more chairs were stacked up beside the terrace doors. A live football game played out across the television screen and everyone else had packed themselves into the living area to watch the game with either passing interest or avid predatory-ness.

Dr. Sullivan was there in one of the arm-chairs, but of course he would be attending. Long-lost family tended to get the automatic invite. He watched the game like he didn't understand the rules, but found it nonetheless amusing.

Steve and Pete seemed to have made fast friends for they were practically sitting on top of each other and not just because of the lack of room on the packed couch. They were clutching each other and looked more like they were watching a horror movie rather than a football game. Clark's parents were definitely into the action, but it was Colletta who stared at the next play like she had a personal stake in the outcome and sheer force of will could effect it.

Lurking in front of the coffee table was Krypto (or Shelby, as far as Lois knew). The big white dog was eyeing the crab-cheese ball with the calculating look of a dog who was wondering how much of it he could sneak off the table before anyone noticed.

"Ah, Lois!" Martha rose up from the loveseat to greet her. "You made it, wonderful! I wasn't sure if the parade was going to delay the train schedule. They used to stop the trains altogether for the whole thing."

"You _-_ -" Lois blinked. "You know they used to do that?"

The city had stopped shutting down the trains for the parade's duration only about ten years ago after enough people complained about the hassle it caused. Bad enough that one of the city's biggest arteries was closed off for the route, but shutting down the trains too even for just an hour paralyzed the entire city.

"Clark didn't mention?" Martha glanced at her son to see if he would dispute her. "I was born in Metropolis. I lived in the Old City until I graduated high school. I went to Central University. That's where I met Johnathan."

"Ah... No, Clark didn't mention that." Lois replied, her perception of the farmer's wife suddenly flickering. If she was right about this woman's age, then Martha hadn't moved out until at least the mid-seventies. That meant she had lived here through the collapse of the copper mine and witnessed the fall of Copper Hill and the rise of the Suicide Slums.

It wasn't that Lois considered the country life uncivilized, but she couldn't fathom the reason why someone would leave behind a city like Metropolis regardless of the ills it had suffered and go live in the empty nowhere fields of Buttfuck Kansas instead.

"It didn't come up." Clark said protestingly.

"Right..." Lois hefted the pie tin to prompt the change of subject. "Well, I made a cheesecake, raspberry and chocolate."

"It sounds delicious. Let me take that off your hands and put it in the fridge. Clark, don't just stand there; take Lois and her sister's coats." Martha instructed, gathering the cheesecake from the reporter. "You two help yourselves to some nibbles and drinks; there's soda and home-made fruit punch on the counter, wine-coolers in the fridge. The turkey won't be out for another forty minutes."

And she swept off, somehow managing to not look like a fussy, harried matron.

Lois tossed her coat in Clark's general direction and decided to save the alcohol for the meal itself (something light that wouldn't fuck with her prescription too much), helping herself to a glass of punch instead. The punch had a distinct citrusy tang, with little icebergs of red and orange sherbet bobbing on the surface. The punch bowl itself was new; she could still see where they had scraped off the barcode sticker. She went into the living area, rescued the crab-cheese ball and its accompanying crackers before Krypto could make his move, and then wedged herself into the couch beside Colletta.

"Who's playing?" she asked

"Us versus _them_." Colletta said, a savage bite in her tone. She didn't take her eyes off the screen.

That meant the Metropolis Meteors were going up against none other than their long-time rivals, the Gotham Knights. The two cities might have been sister-cities, but they definitely had the relationship of estranged sisters that could only fight and fight viciously whenever they were brought into contact with each other.

It also explained why Steve and Pete acted like they were watching a horror movie. Except for the hockey team, the sports teams of Gotham were _brutal_ and the first exposure was always startling.

"Who's winning?" Lois asked, probably the more important question.

" _Them_." Colletta growled.

The showdowns between the Meteors and the Knights were always things of sports legends and they were well-known for being extremely close and nerve-wracking. The Knights were only ahead by two touchdowns right now, but there was a reputation at stake. They would do everything in their power to hang onto that lead. Likewise, the Meteors would do everything in _their_ power to overtake their opponents.

It was actually a comfortable way to spend the next hour and most of Lois's nerves ebbed away as she got caught up in the game and Colletta's bloodthirsty enthusiasm. She was glad that the cop had invited herself along (Clark actually hadn't extended an invitation; Colletta just knew how to worm her way into almost anything) or else this might have been a bit more unpleasant.

The delectable scent of cooked turkey saturated the apartment when it came out and as Johnathan carved it up for easier distribution, everyone kept watching the progress with hungry anticipation. The potatoes were mashed up, mixed in with sour cream, butter, garlic, and poppy seeds for a bit of crunch, the bread was sliced, and the table was set for nine people. By the time Lois sat down (seated between Clark and her sister), she had forgotten all about her nerves.

The plates filled up and then Dr. Sullivan stood up, tapping his glass to get their attention.

"Hello, I'm not sure we've all been introduced to each other. It seems we have some mutual friends, but not all of us were formally introduced." he started. "So before we go any further, I'm Anthony Sullivan, mechanical engineer up at S.T.A.R. Labs. My relation to our host, Clark Kent... Well, it's very recently been confirmed that I am his grandfather."

"I'm adopted. My biological parents are deceased." Clark informed the table before anyone could voice their confusion. "But these two are also my parents, Johnathan and Martha Kent." he added, gesturing to them.

"Well," Steve cleared his throat. "I'm Steve Trevor and I'm in between jobs at the moment. I actually met Lois first... Two weeks ago? It was a bonding experience."

"I'm Colletta." The police officer waved a hand jauntily. "I'm with the Metropolis police department, Special Crimes Unit, and I have known Lois since college. We were room-mates."

Pete raised his hand next. "I'm Pete Ross, aspiring politician. Me and Clark have been friends since diapers, literally."

"Lois Lane, _Daily Planet_ reporter." Lois stated automatically, since they were going around the table. She pointed to the thirteen-year old beside her because Lucy wasn't likely to introduce herself. "And that's my little sister Lucy."

"Most pleasant to meet all of you. Thank you so very much for coming." Dr. Sullivan said sincerely, smiling (and suddenly, his relation to Clark was a little more obvious). "The holidays mean something different to all of us here, but there is something about this time of year that causes amazing and unexpected things to happen. By wild chance, I found the grandson I thought I'd lost for good and gained family anew and I don't know what you'd call that other than divine design. So I hold up my glass to found family, to good friends old and new, and to the _extraordinary_ circumstances that bring people together from so far away."

"Hear, hear!" Johnathan saluted the toast first and the rest of the table followed suit.

It was a beautiful toast and it did the job of encapsulating the general tone of the last two months. Finding family where you never once imagined looking. Making friends with the last people you would have expected. Reuniting from across twenty-seven light-years...

Though that last one only applied to Clark and Dr. Sullivan.

But the rest of it rang true for all of them. Even Lucy, to some extent.

"So," Martha began, once the first few bites of food had gone down and the praising had gotten out of the way. "How does the _Daily Planet_ celebrate Thanksgiving?"

"Turkey Tackle." Lois answered promptly. "It's the GBS's sponsored Thanksgiving dinner for under-privileged families and individuals and _Daily Planet_ employees who aren't off visiting. After food, there's a tackle football tournament."

"Not unlike the policemen's Flash Fry, which actually did not get its name the way you might think." Colletta added. "Yes, the turkeys are deep-fried, but if you believe the origin story, it goes like this: The 1966 Met P.D. annual turkey give-away didn't have enough birds to give out to the under-privileged, so they gave out the ones they were planning to cook up for themselves. Somehow, word of their altruism got all the way down to Keystone City and the next thing they knew, the Flash himself ran a dozen turkeys up here so the police could still have a full Thanksgiving."

"You don't believe it? It sounds like something the Flash would have done." Johnathan pointed out. Altruism had been a large part of the speedster's legacy (and it was not even a small part of Zoom's behavior).

"Oh no, I dispute the number of turkeys." Colletta corrected. "One frozen turkey is heavy, but a dozen? The man was super-fast, not super-strong."

"Maybe he made multiple trips." Clark suggested. As fast as the speedster was purported to run, he could have easily run a dozen times up to Metropolis from Keystone in half an hour. "They clocked him at... What, Mach 6 by the time he retired?"

"Mach 9, I think." Steve corrected, a little frustrated that he wasn't entirely sure. Really, he should have known this.

"Yeah, speakin' of superheroes," Pete started, his eyes flickering very briefly towards Clark. "What's this I've heard about Metropolis having one?"

Lois looked up from her plate. "Oh, you mean Superman."

"Superman?" Martha repeated incredulously and she glanced at her son like _'Did you agree to that?'_

"It's the name that's sticking. I used it in my last blog and it went viral in two hours." Lois shrugged. She wasn't going to fight the great machine that was social media and its ability to get things around the world and back in ten minutes. "It's not exactly the most suitable name, but it's really resonating with the general populace and I think that's the most important part."

"You think?" Clark prompted.

"Well, yeah." Lois shrugged, even if her expression said _'fight me'_. "Look Smallvi- Clark, half of putting a message across is being able to communicate the gist of it to a wide range of people in a form they can easily understand. If you were writing an article on, say... sewage overflow pollution _-_ \- That doesn't happen; we actually have a good sewage system. But it's whether or not you're aiming the article at the micro-level or the macro-level that matters the most. Speaking on the macro-level means you speak directly to the people of the city and you _grab_ their attention. Once you communicate to them the dangers that raw sewage would pose to them and their loved ones, they'll _turn_ on the city leaders and scream for change. But the only way to get to that point is to ensure that your message is understandable across every social and language divide."

"You're saying that the name 'Superman' is speaking on the macro-level. It's grabbed the attention of the people because it communicates across all those divides." Dr. Sullivan concluded.

"And it fits the theme." Lois pointed out. "I mean, Captain Triumph. Commander Steel. Wonder Woman. Mister Terrific."

"Stargirl. Starman. The Star-Spangled Kid. Man-At-Arms. Shining Knight. The Crimson Avenger." Steve added. Old names, all of them, most of their bearers since passed away.

"Superman. The name _reeks_ of old-school heroism." the reporter asserted. "It recalls nostalgia from the older generations and communicates a very simple message to the younger generations and that's what makes it a good name. He is a man and he is super. Enough said."

"And no, he actually hasn't reappeared in the last two weeks." Colletta put in, shaking his head. "There's a really good chance that was a one-off caused by the circumstances. My guess was personal business that nearly spilled over into all of Metropolis."

"Oh come on, the way he was dressed just screamed 'I'll be back'." Lois declared. "No one shows up in a freaking cape and a very form-fitting unitard _that_ colorful unless they plan on coming back."

Clark briefly choked on a bite of turkey about halfway through the sentence. He cleared his throat.

"And what if he doesn't come back? What if it _was_ just a one-off?" he asked and there was a good question to consider. Did he want to pick up superheroics on a regular basis or just stay as regular old Clark Kent, boy reporter? "The thing is, the idea of superheroes soured in the early eighties. People stopped liking the idea of super-powered individuals running around their cities doling out vigilante justice. If this guy, Superman, comes back, would anyone even want him to stay?"

The table went thoughtfully silent. Thanks to a lack of information, the White Scare still worked to unnerve anyone who tried to read up on it. All textbooks spoke on the subject in vague, ominous terms. They got less and less exact as the years went on, as though the writers of history were slowly erasing it from all but living memory. By the time Clark and Lois had reached the topic late in high school, their teachers (both old enough to have lived through it) had framed the Scare as though it was an extension or a side-effect of the Cold War and had very little to do with metahumans at all.

Steve broke the silence first. "My biased opinion is yes."

"First, I want to know why your opinion is biased." Lois said.

"Well, I can't prove it without breaking half a dozen confidentiality agreements in the process, but whether you believe me or not, my mother was actually a member of the Justice Society." the former sergeant said.

"No way!"

"You're serious?"

"You can't prove that!"

"You're right, there's no way I can prove it." Steve acknowledged, waving a hand. "The government might lock me in a hole, but Mom would blast me off the face of the earth first. She never unmasked after Order 57 and she wants her body in the ground before anyone gets to reveal her secrets."

As the Justice Society still had nine members left of its original eighteen, the civilian names and the full record of their war-time activities could not be divulged until the last living member had passed away or unless the current living members unanimously agreed to allow that information to be divulged.

"Well, that's a good reason to be biased." Colletta commented.

"Indeed." Johnathan agreed. "Now I don't mean to one-up, but my great-great Aunt Susan is Bulletgirl from the All-Star Squadron."

"Still no way!"

"You're even more serious than he is!"

"Ooh, World War One vintage!"

"And you could prove it too."

All of its members now deceased, the All-Star Squadron of World War I had been completely declassified. And Johnathan had it in writing that Great-Great-Aunt Susan Kent-Barr was a member of the first superhero team of the twentieth century.

Clark turned to his father. "I didn't know that."

Johnathan shook his head. "It never really came up." he admitted.

But it gave Clark another reason to ponder the merits of putting the armor-suit back on and being... well, Superman. He might not have been a direct relation- Hell, he wasn't a Kent by blood - but he was still family. And he had Bulletgirl of the All-Star Squadron sitting in his family's legacy. Would it mean something to try living up to that? Would it honor her memory and the sacrifices she had made?

Pete kicked him under the table and Clark tuned back into the conversation in time to hear Colletta say:

"I think anyone who grew up witnessing or hearing all of their parent's heroic exploits would be super-biased towards the idea of having a superhero back."

"Anyone who grew up in the age of superheroes, you mean." Lois corrected. Anyone who had grown up in the age of superheroes and hadn't led the Scare taint their perception. "The Baby Boomers, the Silent Generation, whatever's left of the Greatest Generation; they'll eat it up. All that's been colored up by nostalgia. It's Generations X, Y, Z where you're going to find the greatest resistance. And there are five of us at this table."

As though that were the cue, they all looked at Lucy who had been, thus far, only listening and not contributing. And she looked a bit startled that they were expecting her to put her own two cents in.

"Um... I think he sort of needs to show up again and actually do something more than just rescue my sister before anyone can start calling him anything." she said, after a moment of thought.

Pete kicked Clark again under the table.

 _I know! I know!_ He wanted to shout, but he bit down on the words for now. Pete would bring up the subject later, for sure, after everyone who wasn't in the loop had gone home. They could discuss it then, if there was even anything to discuss.

It wouldn't be the first time they would have a long, circular conversation about Clark possibly using his powers for the benefit of others. Of being a superhero in the style of the Justice Society.

They had talked about it so often in the last eight years that Clark didn't think there was much left to actually discuss.

The rest of the dinner conversation (really, it was more like lunch for the time of day) was much less 'heroic'. Martha wanted to know more about how the _Daily Planet_ worked and Johnathan swapped places with Steve so he could better talk to Colletta about the best way to start a garden and Steve seemed to have taken a particular interest in Pete's civic duties and Dr. Sullivan found himself talking to Lucy about the best ways of getting into the field of robotics. All the while, Krypto circled the table with big puppy eyes and a show of cuteness to get as many hand-outs as he could until Clark finally caved and let the dog lick out the tin the turkey had cooked in.

All in all, it was a remarkably pleasant way to spend the early part of the afternoon.

But it wasn't until the dishes had been picked clean and Clark was collecting the plates and silverware for washing that Lois felt it starting to sink in. The slow realization working its way through the faint buzz of alcohol and the distant fuzzy feeling of tryptophan until it reached where it was going and the fluffy warmth of a good meal and good company that Lois had been enjoying started to fade.

 _No one even raised their voice._

She looked around the living areas, shock slowly edging into her mind. Lucy had shifted to Colletta for conversation (they had always gotten along well) and Pete was relating childhood horror stories about Clark to Dr. Sullivan while the former brandished the dish sponge and squeezed it ominously. Steve was slugged out on the loveseat, nursing a food-baby, and Martha looked like she was going to nap on her husband's shoulder and _this was all so weird..._

They had made it all the way through dinner and not one person had tried to goad another into a screaming argument. There had been no stony silences or underhanded insults. Not even one dirty look, much less a mass one that rippled from one end of the table to the other.

It was like everyone here was actually capable of getting along like decent humans.

Because they were.

 _What the hell kind of Twilight Zone is this?_ Lois demanded silently, a nervous sweat starting to break out under her collar. _Look at this happy families bullshit, people actually act like this around the holidays?_

She stood up so abruptly the chair legs screeched and clattered on the wood floor, and heads turned towards her to see what the fuss was.

"I need some air." she said.

And without another word, she grabbed her coat off the rack and let herself out the door.

The wintry air outside was a relief and the first breath of it soothed some of the nerves jangling under her skin. She walked two blocks away from the building until she found a low wall to sit on.

 _So_ _ **that's**_ _what a Thanksgiving meal is supposed to be like._

Just plain freaky, honestly.

Then again, holidays with the combined Lane-Sullivan family had been rife with unfinished arguments. The in-laws couldn't stand each other. The Lane family had a long proud history in the military and bred such uptight bastards that things like questioning plans and being late were looked upon as cardinal sins. The Sullivan family, in contrast, had a long proud history in being rabble-rousers, for more than half their adult members had been arrested at least once for being part of protest mobs. They did nothing but question plans and authority and nitpick like professionals.

When the two sides came together on the holidays, they were determined to finish what arguments they had started the last time and get the last word in and one-up each other verbally and sometimes physically.

For some reason, the get-togethers always lasted a few hours. Both sides did have a ridiculous amount of pride and a stubborn determination to never be the first to back down. So no one had ever tried to duck out early to avoid the drama and the shouting and the regular bouts of fisticuffs that they were just polite enough to take outside so everyone could gather 'round and egg the combatants on (it had to be acknowledged: if the argument brought out the fists, the Lane side usually won more often than not).

It sounded terrible, but the one good thing that had come out of Ella's death was that no one had expected General Lane to show up at Christmas. In fact, he had taken the first opportunity to duck out of the familial obligation altogether.

Lois hadn't been to a Lane-Sullivan holiday reunion in nearly ten years and she felt that her stress levels had decreased dramatically for it.

And if what she had witnessed back in Clark's apartment was how these things were really supposed to be, then no wonder people spoke of their family get-togethers so fondly.

"Lois?"

 _And speaking of the farm boy himself..._

Clark had pulled a hoodie on over his flannel, with footwear that looked more like slippers with rubber soles rather than shoes.

"Need something, Smallville?" Lois asked.

"No, I just came to check on you." Clark replied. "You've been out here for ten minutes."

 _That long? Huh, time flies when you're lost in your own head._ Lois mused absently. "Is anyone expecting me to come back in right this minute?"

"No."

"Then I'm staying out here for a little longer."

Clark had the feeling, though, that if he didn't convince Lois to come back in for dessert, she _wouldn't_ come back in. Her pulse had shot up, her face had paled, and she had looked like she had just seen something morally objectionable. He didn't think it was any coincidence she had fled the apartment just after.

"Lois, are you feeling okay?" he asked. Her first name still sounded strange coming out of his mouth. "I mean, I know they've got you on different painkillers now, but it's probably still not a good idea to have alcohol _-_ -"

"I'm _fine_ , Smallville!" Lois snapped impatiently. "I just needed some air, what's your excuse?"

 _I came to see if you were all right._ Clark thought, but he couldn't just come on so boldly like that, as that would imply he thought (or knew) there was something wrong with her.

Instead, he sat down on the wall beside her. Lois didn't shift away or stand up and leave, but she didn't look at him either. Nonetheless, they sat there in the November silence for a few long minutes until he decided to try and say something.

"Lois, we're _-_ \- we're friends, aren't we?" he asked.

It was a poor opening line, because again, it implied that there was some kind of issue, but he was really very curious to know what she would say. Lois didn't use the word 'friend', according to Colletta, regardless if that was the best word to define the relationship. He wondered what word Lois would use as a substitute if she didn't fall back on 'partner'.

"No." Lois answered, staring at the curb. "But we also can't _be_ friends if you don't open up a little."

 _What? Open up about what? Talk about myself? I've done that._ Clark frowned. "Lois, I know _less_ of you than you of me. It's incredibly hypocritical of you to tell me that I need to open up when you don't." he said, firmly but gently. It was frustrating to hear her say that, but he was going to stay calm. "It makes you seem like you want someone to be your friend, but you don't want the hassle of being theirs. I know you don't like getting close to people-"

"Who told you that nonsense?" Lois demanded, snapping her head around to look at him with all the menace of a tank turret.

"No one told me and it's not nonsense." Clark said. He was more perceptive than she gave him credit for. "I know there's plenty of people who think poorly of you and I'm pretty sure they've said ugly things right to your face, and as a result, you keep everyone at a distance. But you can't demand to be let into someone's personal bubble and then shove them out of yours whenever it's convenient. It doesn't work like that."

His tone was quite calm and hopefully reasonable and not confrontational at all, but with every word that came out of his mouth, Lois's expression contorted a little further in a sort of vengeful denial. And then a layer of red and orange flared up her face and Clark realized he was actually _seeing_ the temperature increase on her skin. Her expression shifted into downright angry, like he had just asked her to do something utterly unspeakable, and she stood up in a towering rage that made Clark feel small for the first time in years.

"Well fuck you too Smallville!" Lois bellowed, in a voice so loud for a woman so small. "Some of us didn't get the happy families Norman Rockwell childhood with the nostalgic Christmas card holiday yule log bullshit!"

"S-Sorry _-_ -" Clark started, mentally backpedaling because hello! brand-new infrared vision choosing that moment to kick on in full and with such intensity that he was seeing it over the edges of his lead-plated glasses. Every inch of Lois's exposed skin that was visible in his peripherals turned fiery red.

"Sorry? Sorry for what?!" Lois demanded, still at a bellowing volume that surely Dr. Sullivan could hear all the way back at the apartment. "What have you got to be sorry for?! Sorry that you have a family you can actually talk to?! Sorry that there's a place for you at the table every holiday?! Sorry that your parents actually have a holiday dinner every year?! Yeah, what the hell have you got to be sorry for?!"

"Lo _-_ \- Ms. Lane _-_ -" Clark tried to start, suddenly feeling like he had vastly under-estimated the situation.

"There is no 'talking' in my family! You shout in Dad's general direction and watch the words bounce off!" Lois shouted. "We don't sit down and chit-chat about our feelings! It's 'do this, do that, leave college, and no, no, you're coming to goddamn Corto Maltese, I'll make a solder out of you yet, and don't question my authority young lady'! Because fuck back-talking, fuck logic, fuck rational arguments, and fuck your farm boy apple pie life, _Kent_!"

Clark flinched.

"I didn't think _-_ -" he started, even though he wasn't sure how it was going to finish, but he had a sudden, urgent need to cough up something like an apology or it was _all going to go wrong!-_ -

"Well, maybe you were wrong." Lois said with a smirking sneer, but there was a particular edge to it that wasn't at all malicious. "How does it feel to be wrong?! Go be self-righteous somewhere else, hayseed!" she half-screamed.

Then, with her skin seeming to blaze for the heat coming off it, she turned and stormed away like a thunderhead. She could have left sparks in her wake, so furious was her stride. Clark was left where he sat, feeling much like a super-hot wind had blown over him.

 _What just happened?_

He had to think on it for a second, to backtrack his way through the conversation because it changed very quickly.

He had called her out her habit of distancing people. He had been trying to provoke a response, to get her talking, but he must have poked at a sore wound in the process that had triggered something else in her mind.

Lois had looked around the apartment and fled because she spoke like happy holidays were not and had never been a thing in her family. She wanted Lucy to have at least one good Thanksgiving because no such thing had happened even while Ella Lane had been alive.

The problems didn't start or end with her father; it encompassed the entire range of aunts and uncles and cousins.

 _No happy families Norman Rockwell vibe for her._

If Clark had known what sort of forbidden, dangerous territory had lain right in front of him, he never would have stepped forward. Their friendship over the last seven weeks had been related largely to work, with not much conversation on personal topics in between. But in his mind, you couldn't spend seven weeks around a person and not learn a fair bit about them along the way.

Unless that person was Lois.

Lois who steered every personal topic away from herself, often very blatantly. Too many times she said something vague that only _just_ hinted at a deeper story, but never elaborated. The times she actually went into more than just vague detail were so far in between that Clark could still count those on his hands.

And Lois might even have been a little jealous of the fact that Clark had a good relationship with his parents, where they expected him out for dinner at least once a month and still welcomed him every other time.

But that wasn't the worst part.

The worst part was that he might have accidentally rubbed that in her face. He'd had little reason to suspect that she hadn't had a happy home life. Maybe not the most ideal one; one where things were a bit more rough around the edges and the holidays could be an awkward time of year.

But he hadn't expected her to blast her insecurities all over him.

The worst part was realizing that, like everyone else, Clark had thought he had gotten Lois figured.

A fiery, impulsive woman who took no prisoners and gave everyone hell. The hard-hitting reporter who stormed the news world and sliced through the curtain of lies with her poison pen. A career-driven woman who scared her coworkers with her intensity and methods. A bold, brilliant young woman who always sought the truth and the only person who seemed to appreciate her efforts was Perry White.

Or, a psychotic, half-suicidal bitch who didn't like anyone and no one liked her.

That was why everyone had seemed to skirt nervously around Clark Kent. They had asked themselves what kind of person he had to be if he was within choking distance and why wasn't he unconscious yet? Because Lois didn't work with people. Lois didn't like people. Lois didn't _trust_ people. Because people had hurt her. People had abandoned her just as she started to count on them. People didn't like her and they pigeon-holed her into the category of stone-cold bitch without ever trying to understand how she had come to be that way. People pretended there wasn't a warm heart and real feelings under that spiky exterior.

People didn't believe there was anything there to hurt.

 _But that's not me._ Clark though desperately, staring down the sidewalk where she had vanished around a corner. _That's not me. I'm not like that. I could never be like that. How do I tell her that? How do I make sure she believes it?_

* * *

-0-

Lois still has issues with people and her own insecurities. Don't worry friendly Clois shippers. These dorks have only known each other for all of two months. What's the fun if they're perfect from the start?

For those who may not be aware: the All-Star Squadron was one of the many WW2 superhero teams that appeared in the Golden Age. In comics canon-time, it existed right alongside the Justice Society and had many overlapping members. In Shatterpoint, the All-Star Squadron has been pared down to eight members and shifted to WW1 to provide a better sense of historical longevity.


	32. Black Friday

I'm sort of semi kind of almost not really just barely participating in NaNoWriMo this year in a roundabout way. I'm not starting any new stories why would I, but trying to hit the word count is a good challenge. October is always a weird month writing-wise, but I always get my groove back in November.

I'm re-working the last few chapters of Story 3 (cuz damn they need it) and I should be able to get back into Story 4 after that. A really big chunk of Story 4 is already written (and has been since summer 2013), so it's just going to be a matter of updating the existing chapters. Once I knock out chapter 9, it's going to be a downhill ride.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Two: Black Friday

Colletta always went shopping on Black Friday. She had been doing the yearly ritual for so long it practically unthinkable not to.

She had grown up in the Oxbay neighborhood of West River, which meant that her family had been poor as dirt (and the not the good kind of dirt you could grow a crop in; more like the dust you found on the side of the highway). Her dad had been a greasy spoon fry cook regularly bringing home the left-overs and most days, that was all they would eat for dinner, and her mother had been a cocktail waitress at a shitty cabaret lounge which had turned out to be a gambling speakeasy and then she had gotten employed at an even shittier cabaret lounge, both working for peanuts to feed and clothe and house three children. Colletta and her brothers had done their level best to contribute by raking leaves and mowing lawns and weeding flowerbeds, but in West River, _everyone_ was as poor as dirt and the most that could be spared was a few dollars at a time. Some days, that was just enough to get them a school breakfast.

Around the holidays, the tips got a bit more generous and so her parents had gotten something of a bonus. Black Friday, of course, was when the best deals were to be had so her mom and dad had shouldered their way aggressively through the stores to claim the sixty percent discounts while their children stood guard and got weepy-eyed as necessary.

In a big city like Metropolis, the stores on Black Friday were mad-houses of seething humanity squabbling over the best deals like carrion birds squabbled over fresh roadkill. They were, for the most part, fairly civil but every year, there was at least one story about someone getting trampled in the initial rush. It made Colletta glad for her broader shoulders and hips, and her ten-plus years of kickboxing. All of that just made her harder to knock over.

And this year, she was accompanied by Lois, who was not above throwing elbows.

There was just a minor oddity with that addition to Colletta's Black Friday routine. Lois only hit the clothing stores and such when she needed to and _never_ on days where the rush to get the best deals could actually kill someone.

Lois was either up to something unholy or the world was coming to an end on New Year's Eve or _something_ apocalyptic was coming down on Metropolis because Black Friday was nine hundred percent **not** something she would ever subject herself to willingly.

And yet...

"Sooo..." Colletta started pointedly. "Did something happen yesterday that you don't want to talk about? Something between you and Clark, perhaps?"

Lois scowled. "Where did you get that from? What is with people lately drawing dumb conclusions out of nowhere?" she complained, albeit mostly to herself.

 _Aha! Something did happen!_ The police officer concluded. _Deny, deny, deny. That's the Lois Lane way!_

Really, any idiot could have seen that something had gone down. Lois has escaped from Thanksgiving for some air and Clark had gone to check on her about ten minutes later. He had come back alone with a slightly thunderstruck expression, declaring that Lois had gotten a call and had to leave and completely failed to provide any explanatory details.

Colletta knew that if she asked just the right question, she could get Lois to tell her everything without the reporter actually realizing it. One really had to listen and read between the lines when Lois spoke, as she was one of those people who could say an awful lot in just a handful of words.

Before she could start pondering over the best questions that would poke the answers out of Lois, her phone jingled out something vaguely classical-sounding. The caller I.D. told her it was Clark.

 _Yes! He'll tell me everything and I won't have to pretend that I'm not trying to get it out of him!_

"Hiya Clark!" Colletta chirped loudly into the speaker, making sure Lois knew exactly who she was talking to. The reporter looked over her shoulder and gave the police officer a very sour look.

" _Hi, Colletta. Um, how are you?_ " Clark inquired politely.

"Black Friday shopping. I'm in a zone. Got my eyes on a prize." Colletta replied, walking purposely towards a display advertising forty percent off bedding. She had been eyeing good fleece sheets because her room-mate was one of those crazy people who thought that by turning the heat down in the winter, they would save a little money on the utility bill. Never mind that the utility bill was a fixed sum not dependent on how often they ran the heat or the A/C, but her room-mate spent far more time at the apartment than Colletta did, so it was something of a losing battle.

" _Oh... Well, if I'm interrupting..._ " Clark gave every vocal cue that he was willing to end the call.

"Not at all! I'm a police officer. If I didn't learn how to do five things at once, I'd be dead already! What's up?

" _I was hoping you could help me with something. I sort of... might have gotten into a small fight with Lois yesterday and I don't know how to apologize._ "

"Hmm, it depends on what you said to her." Colletta explained, turning over the packages of bed-sheets to see if they would fit her mattress. "There's really only so much I can do if you went super salty on her. Otherwise I might have to let her beat you up."

Clark muttered something that was inaudible through the phone and over to her left, Lois gave a small if slightly wicked smile at the display of solidarity. Colletta was one of the few people she was sure would have her back.

" _She tried to suggest that if we were going to be friends, then I needed to open up a little more. And then I called her a hypocrite for barely talking about herself, among other things._ " Clark replied.

Colletta winced. "Okay, yeah, that's one of the horrors in Pandora's Box." she agreed. "Okay, Lane family 101: they suck at communication. I gotta admit, that's one of the things you learn about them through trial and error. Lois is just better because she's had a lot of practice at it. But that doesn't stop her from being a super-massive hypocrite on the not talking about herself thing."

Lois's smile changed into a scowl. So much for solidarity.

" _I think she's self-aware of it._ "

"Only sometimes."

Lois rolled her eyes like she disagreed with that assessment and moved off to investigate the price tags on the nearby sleepwear.

Internally, Colletta felt a gleeful dance coming on. This explained everything and _so much more_. Lois wanted the mad rush of Black Friday to get her mind off of the small fight with Clark. She let things like verbal barbs and fights with colleagues roll right off her back. She didn't act like they didn't affect her; she was so hardened against them that they just couldn't affect her.

So for anything to stick in her craw meant that she actually cared a lot about the words spoken.

But it wasn't so much the words spoken (Lois had heard everything and then some, and her general reaction was to yawn and wonder what else was new). It was the person behind them.

It was Clark.

Whatever Clark had said, Lois had listened to him far more than she was comfortable with. She had really heard the words this time and they had struck all the right chords and now she couldn't get them out of her head.

She couldn't get them out of her head because she cared about what Clark thought of her.

But she refused to acknowledge the affect they'd had on her.

"Clark, are you familiar with the term 'tsundere'?" Colletta wondered.

" _No, but it sounds Japanese_."

"It is. It's a character archetype commonly used in anime, but it's really the only way I can think to describe Lois." the police officer admitted. "'Tsun' means harsh or bitter, while 'dere' means sweet. Lois's prevailing front is the tsun side. She's predominately harsh, abrasive, and a little dominating, and the dominate-tsun character acts emotionally detached either because they don't know how or don't want to open themselves up to other people."

" _That-_ - _That actually does sound a lot like Lois._ "

"Yep. She really does have a soft side, but she thinks it's more vulnerable. That's partly why our relationship was pretty low-key. Doesn't like being caught with her proverbial pants down, if you know what I mean."

" _Yeah, I do._ "

A product of her upbringing, it was. When one was raised by a stern military general whose face was about as mobile and elastic as the wall of a house and who was used to dealing with buttoned-up soldiers, one tended to internalize the idea of not showing the softer side.

" _So, about an apology?_ " Clark prompted, which was what he really wanted to get around to. It hadn't even been twelve hours and it felt like a weird distance had opened up between him and Lois and he didn't like it.

"Alright, apologizing to Lois is an exercise in patience. She usually needs about twenty-four hours to steam away the bad feelings." Colletta said. "And then brace yourself, she likes to leave you _dangling_. She might not be blindly mad at you after twenty-four hours, but she'll make you work for that apology. Like, you _can_ apologize, but she will just give you this look like 'is that all you got, punk?'"

"I do not!" Lois hissed from across the aisle.

" _So you're suggesting that she won't take an apology unless I show her how much I want it?_ " Clark questioned. It sounded a bit all or nothing, but it also sounded like Lois's way of weeding out those who weren't willing to put in the effort.

Maybe she wouldn't put in the effort until she knew he would reciprocate if the going got rough.

"Pretty much!" Colletta said chirpily. "If you want to smooth the way, you need to start by appealing to Lois's dere side. Which means you need to go up to the Hamstead borough, find a shop called 'Fudge Yourself', and get a box of caramel chocolates."

" _Caramel chocolates?_ "

"At least the medium box. It is absolutely one of her weaknesses."

"Colletta!" Lois groaned, somewhat in despair that her former room-mate was revealing such things about her.

"Hush!" Colletta instructed, covering the phone's speaker with her hand. "You should at least wheedle free chocolate out of him first. Besides, you _love_ caramel chocolates!"

" _But won't she know I've been talking to you if I do that?_ " Clark wondered. To him, it seemed that Lois would be the sort to be annoyed that he had gone around behind her back even with good intentions.

"Don't worry about that, she already knows that we're talking. She's across the aisle from me pretending she's really interested in that lacy lingerie that's really transparent and I don't think it would look very good on her." Colletta informed him, though glancing pointedly at Lois while she did (and no, that lingerie would not do her any favors). "Once I hang up, she'll come at me swearing for at least a good minute and then I can tell her that you are hoping to apologize for some of the things you said. Fudge Yourself, caramel chocolates, and prostrate yourself if you have to."

" _And that's appealing to her dere side? It sounds a little more like surrendering._ "

"Honestly, it's kind of the same thing. I don't think Lois knows how to back down, so it's a lot more efficient to do it first."

Lois looked away from the lingerie display to give Colletta a look that spoke vaguely of betrayal. But she wasn't actively trying to wrestle the phone away from the police officer, which meant that she wasn't actually that annoyed with the direction of the conversation.

"Hey Clark, whatcha want for Christmas?" Colletta wondered. If she was going to be in this store for the next hour, she might as well buy him something and she would be damned if she didn't get a new friend a good Christmas present.

" _What? Oh, I don_ _'_ _t know, I haven_ _'_ _t-_ -"

 ***KRA-A-A-A-ACK!***

It was the sound of snapping concrete and the ceiling caved inwards over the not-so-sexy lingerie and right over Lois's head. Colletta threw her phone aside and lunged, grabbing the reporter around the waist. She didn't know how she moved fast enough to get them both out of the way of the chunk of ceiling that crashed into the floor, but the next thing Colletta was positive of, they were slamming into the tile amid a crumble of concrete pieces and plaster dust. Around them, most of the shoppers scattered into the depths of the store with frightened screams even while a few stuck around to see if anything interesting was going to happen next.

But the ceiling hadn't done that all on its own because someone had skimped on the construction costs. Hovering over the wreckage and the sparking wires was a man. A heavy-set man with the most disproportionate shoulders ever, so bulging and herniated that Lois sincerely hope that his poor mother had not been subjected to a vaginal delivery. That was a steroidal broadness matched by only the most dedicated and doped up of bodybuilders. It was amazing his body didn't snap right at the waist, which was quite slim in comparison. He had dark hair that looked like a fresh dye job, a square face, and beady little eyes that looked like the black eyes of a shark, as though he was already dead inside.

The problem was what he was wearing: a red and blue unitard with a scarlet cape with the now-familiar S-shield on the chest (it should have been familiar; Lois had been staring at it for the last two weeks).

"Is that fucking Superman?" Colletta asked, her voice rising to a squeak.

"Nah, no way that's Superman!" Lois replied, shaking her head. "I've literally been five inches from his face! That ain't him!"

The face was too square, the jaw was the wrong shape, his nose turned up too much, even his skin wasn't the right tone. The suit was clearly blue spandex painted red and gold in the appropriate places and his shoulders were _way too big_. Like, Superman's shoulders were broad, but proportionate to the rest of his body. This stranger was grossly top-heavy whereas Superman was rather well-muscled all over.

This was a total stranger playing dress-up.

As soon as Lois said that this man wasn't the new unitard-clad hero, Herniated-Shoulders turned to face her. His face was a mask of cold menace. Then he kicked out of the way the hunk of rubble in front of him and starting striding towards the ladies with Terminator-like purpose.

"Gogogo!" Colletta leapt to her feet, dragging Lois up with her.

They didn't make it far before Lois felt a looming presence right behind her. Her shoes squeaked on the tile as she dodged to the left and there was a whoosh of displaced air from a swiping hand. The tips of sausage-like fingers carded through the ends of her hair, but failed to grab anything.

She spun around mid-stride, fists raised defensively. The imposter's sheer steroidal muscles made her hesitate. Lois was fast and good with her fists and she knew how to take down guys twice her size, but this guy's over-muscled physique might be just a bit much.

 _If I punched him, I don't think he'd feel it._

She hesitated just an instant too long and a hand as wide as her forearm was long shot out at her head and it was all she could do to back-peddle-

"You shouldn't be doing that." spoke a lovely baritone voice that put a shiver down Lois's spine despite the situation.

In the blink of an eye, the imposter was jerked away by the hand that grasped his wrist and Superman (proper Superman with his lantern jaw and black hair and eerie bright blue eyes and chiseled abs; she had been staring at those abs for the past two weeks too; she would know them anywhere by now) put himself between Herniated-Shoulders and Lois.

"Didn't your parents teach you that it's rude to grab at women like that?" Superman inquired with a patient curiosity like he actually expected an answer, though Lois was sure there was more sass involved than she could actually hear.

The click-click of artificial camera shutters echoed around them when the onlookers got over their immediate nerves, peering out behind upright displays or holding their phones out to look through the view-finder instead.

Herniated-Shoulders started to grow furiously red in the face and, sensing a testosterone-induced punching match just around the corner, Lois hurried out of the way. Just in time too, as the heavy-set imposter ducked his head and hunched his hilariously large shoulders and crashed into Superman's chest, sending them both flying across the sale floor in a blur of blue and red amid a fresh outburst of startled screams. He didn't have a running start, but when you were stronger than an ox, you didn't always need a running start. There was a follow-up ***THUD!*** that shook the floor underneath them and caused bits of plaster to fall from the hole in the ceiling.

"Lois, you okay? Where's my phone? I have to call Lieutenant Sawyer! I have to do my job!" Without waiting for answers, Colletta scrambled off to retrieve her phone from wherever it had landed.

"And so do I." Lois said, setting up her phone to record video.

She ran down the aisles, skipping and clambering over the toppled displays. She wasn't the only one running for the scene of the proverbial crime with phone in hand, but at least she could claim professional capacity for running _towards_ the danger. When she got to the combatants, Superman was pulling himself out of a man-shaped dent in the floor and lunging at Mr. Herniated-Shoulders.

"Your form's wrong!" Lois shouted, upon realizing how his legs were braced, his arms positioned. He was unbalanced. Any fighting instructor could have knocked him on his ass, no matter how strong he was. Right then, Lois was sure that _she_ could have put him on the mats.

She saw Superman lift his head with an expression of confusion directed at her, only to take a punch across the jaw for his moment of inattentiveness.

He was big, he was strong, he was amazing, but one thing was rapidly becoming apparent as Lois watched the punches start to fly in earnest right there in the middle of the store. Superman didn't know _how_ to fight.

As strong as he was, Superman had probably spent his life up until now dodging fights. No bar-room brawls for him; he must have been that guy who sat on the sidelines and tried not to draw attention to himself. Someone with his strength breaking faces on public property... Well, that would have been noticed very quickly.

And dodging was all he did. He bobbed and weaved out of the path of the eighty-mile an hour roundhouse swings and kept circling so the fight didn't spill out into the onlookers, but he didn't physically retaliate. He didn't even raise a hand to block the punches; he just let them swish harmlessly by. Herniated-Shoulders was strong and fast, but Superman was stronger and faster. Lois recognized that it would be very easy for Superman to overpower the imposter.

But he was _trying_ not to hurt the man

"Headbutt him! Pin his left arm! Take out his knee! He's weak on the left side!" Lois shouted, brandishing a fist like she was about to dive in there herself. "You're gonna have to hurt him a little!"

And that was when a miracle happened. Superman _listened_. He clamped his hands down on the other man's shoulders, getting a solid grip despite their bulging proportions, and administered a headbutt to the imposter's forehead. Really, it was just a tap but it had the same effect as a normal person headbutting at full force. Herniated-Shoulders reeled, a concussed look crossing his face. Superman grabbed him by the left wrist and spun him around, twisting the arm behind his back. Then he kicked out the man's left knee, just as instructed. It slowed him down, but it didn't stop him completely. Even as Herniated-Shoulders's knee caved in, his arms shot out to inflict whatever damage he could.

 _He listened to me! Now there's a man!_ Lois thought happily, unable to wipe the grin off her face. Frankly, any man who didn't know what they were doing _-_ \- and who listened to a woman who did and realized that it didn't shrivel their ballsacks _-_ \- was worthy of praise.

"Punch him back!" she suggested. Brute force was going to have to get the job done where finesse couldn't. Superman had none of that. "I think he can take it!"

Superman hesitated, but not long enough to lose the advantage. His fist was winding back before he knew it was doing that and he threw the punch with only an eighth of his strength. It slammed into Herniated-Shoulders's gut like a car, hitting him at least sixty miles an hour.

The grip Superman still had on the man's shoulder meant that he didn't go flying back from the force of the blow, but his entire body was bowed backwards, his feet lifting right up off the floor. A groaning wheeze escaped him and as soon as Superman let go, he slumped to the floor with an audible cracking of the tiles.

The silence that followed was borderline deafening, with everyone staring at everybody else like they were waiting for a cue. Should they run screaming for the exits? Should they just stand there and hope that they weren't next? Should they applaud?

When Lois really looked back on this day from several years down the line, she would realize that it was the very next moment that had defined everything that was still to come.

Then one of the store's security officers stumbled forward and something about him screamed that he was newly-minted (it might have been the excessive amount of polish on his name-plate) looked at the huge-shouldered strongman.

"Jeez, you got him." he said, pushing his cap up. He looked up at Superman with awe written across his face. For a second, Lois feared that the guy was going to start spouting things like 'Jeepers' and 'Gadzooks!', like this was a comic book from the nineteen-thirties or so. The look was there _-_ \- that wide-eyed expression that veered somewhere between pants-wetting terror and hero-worshipping awe.

"Th-Thanks for your help, S-Superman." the junior officer sputtered, averting his eyes in a gesture of overwhelmed embarrassment.

"It wasn't a problem." Superman replied cordially, a very friendly smile on his face. "Has someone contacted the authorities?"

"I have!" Colletta bellowed before anyone else could answer. She was sprinting forward, waving her phone above her head, and then skidded to a halt just beside the security officer, thrusting a hand forward professionally. "Officer Kanigher, Metropolis P.D. Special Crimes Unit. I've already contacted my lieutenant and she's rallying the troops. We can take it from here, if it's all the same to you."

"If it's all the same to you, I'll wait until they arrive." Superman said, but he reciprocated the handshake firmly and warmly.

"Good, because we have to question you _-_ \- I think we have to question you..." Colletta thought about that for a moment. There must have been procedures for something like this, but she was going to have to figure out where she had tossed her manual. "It's the SCU's job to handle the weird stuff and I'm pretty sure this qualifies, so you need to stick around for a moment. Please don't fly off. If you can fly."

"I'll try not to." Superman said, but it didn't sound like much of an assurance. "It's very nice to meet you, Officer Kanigher. Are you and your friend all right? You two were nearly right under the ceiling when it came down."

Here, he turned to look to the side and Lois found herself standing right in his line of vision. Whether he was standing five inches away or ten feet, it made no difference.

 _There is a god out there who did some mighty fine work on those pectorals look how smooth they are I could polish diamonds on those abs I could do pull-ups on those arms I could go bouldering on those thighs turn around and pull that cape out of the way and let me see the rest I hope it's just as tight and perky as the rest of you-_ -

"Hey Lois!" Colletta shouted, making the little fantasy go poof.

"You have beautiful eyes!" Lois said very loudly, though her own eyes didn't even get above his collar bone.

"She's fine." Colletta said, nodding to Superman. Then she frowned. "Wait, was she talking to me or you?"

"Sorry, sorry!" Lois snapped out of whatever was left of the haze that was going to be haunting her naughtier dreams. "I'm still on some good painkillers because of my wrist, but I'm fine, thanks for asking."

Superman blinked. "Was that _-_ \- sarcasm?"

Lois shrugged. "Sort of." she said. Because two weeks after the first incident and not a week after the second and he only _just now_ inquired after her well-being? Not much of a hero if he delayed that long. "So is this what you're going to do?"

"Excuse me?"

"This." The reporter gestured to the short trail of destruction through the store. "Just showing up to save the day? Don't get me wrong, I'm not about to wibble over the first two times and I don't think anyone's going to complain that you got here in time, but are you going to make a habit out of this?"

Superman made a thoughtful face like he really hadn't taken the time to consider it. As if what had happened two miles above Metropolis **had** been a one-off after all and saving Lois had likely been due to the fact he'd been _right there_ , but when he'd been alerted to this, he'd chosen to step in.

His eyes darted almost imperceptibly around at the crowd of onlookers, many of whom were still recording the scene with their phones with expressions like they were holding their breath. Lois saw the indecision flit across his face, but she also saw the decision follow it. After another second or two of thought, he squared his shoulders confidently. The action seemed to make him grow another inch (what was he, about six-four?).

He said: "If the city needs me, I'll be there. You can count on that."

Superman shifted like he was going to take off and leave, but the onlookers gasped and shifted back in terrified unison and over Superman's shoulder, Lois saw the steroidal mass of Herniated-Shoulders rocket up from the floor, rage written into the creases of his expression.

Then he fell on Superman like a brick.

The ensuing crash shook the floor and nearly knocked Lois off her feet.

Herniated-Shoulders's talents appeared to lay more in wrestling than fist-fighting, for he was quick to go about pinning Superman's arms and legs, making himself hard to throw off. He smashed Superman's head, face-first, into the floor over and over.

Colletta about tossed her phone aside again and plunged her hand underneath her coat, coming up with the new SIG Sauer P250 (literally new, the model had just become available and the SCU was trialing it), and started plugging rounds in, to no desired effect. The bullets flattened themselves against impenetrable skin and tinkled harmlessly to the floor. It did, however, make Herniated-Shoulders shove Superman's head into the floor and lift straight up horizontally with his black, dead little eyes locked on the police officer.

"Move!" Lois shouted, though she wasn't sure who the command was directed at. But they both moved; Colletta away with a gazelle-like leap, and Superman with a hand whipping out to seize the other man's ankle.

Superman practically threw the strongman into the floor, like bringing down a plank of wood. He pulled himself out of the floor as he did. Lois would have thought that his nose would be at least bleeding, but there wasn't a scratch on him. He didn't blink or hesitate, but his eyes and the skin around them turned a sudden hot bue-white and visible beams of heat jumped across the empty space to strike Herniated-Shoulders square in the back. Once and only once not even for a second. Just long enough for him to feel the heat and the burn and recognize it for the warning that it was.

"That's enough." Superman said firmly.

"And stay down!" Lois ordered.

"No." Herniated-Shoulders said, the first coherent word he had spoken the whole time. His voice was dull and grunting like he had torn up his throat screaming.

Raw hatred flashed across his face and he shot up off the floor like he had been catapulted, but went straight up through the ceiling with a concrete shattering crash that rained down still more chunks of plaster and rebar. Some of it would have hit Lois, but Superman pulled her under an arm and flung his cape up around her like a tent. And the enormous-shouldered man was gone as suddenly as he had come.

Lois batted the shielding arm aside and looked up at the new hole in the ceiling for a moment. Then she looked back down at Superman.

"So, this is the third time we've met." she said. "How do you know my name?"

Superman inhaled like he was going to respond but hesitating before saying: "I'm sorry, I don't think there was a chance to introduce myself."

The reporter thrust a hand out in her usual manner. "Lois Lane, _Daily Planet_ reporter."

Even though he apparently already knew that, but if they were going to do thing properly...

"It's nice to meet you." Superman said, returning the handshake. "I don't _-_ \- I don't think I actually have a name _-_ -"

"Superman."

"Excuse me?"

"You. Superman. That's what people are starting to call you." Lois told him. "It's bold and catchy and it really does look great splashed across four columns. Another month and it'll be the household name that everyone knows you by. You're not going to fight the power of social media. Might as well bow to the inevitable."

Another silence followed that, as if the world was absorbing the weight of Lois's prediction and how far-reaching the effects of this moment would be, because she was speaking of more than just the name catching on. She could very well be predicting that this could very well be the day that people looked back on and declare that here was where it had all begun again.

Superman (Clark, really) thought it was unusually optimistic for her, not just to call it now but also in the long-term. He had pegged Lois as being too pessimistic to think that superheroes would even become a reality once more, but then again, he had made a few false assumptions about her already.

There was no way of telling if the world was ready for a superhero like him, but there was only one way to find out. It was time to put himself out there and he would deal with the consequences as they came.

He would be Superman, the first hero in nearly two decades, the start of something new, and the beginning of a legacy that wouldn't become obvious for another few years, but one that no one would ever forget.

* * *

-0-

Appearances aside, that was not meant to be Bizarro. No, Bizarro is slated for Story 6.


	33. Holding Out For A Hero

Early update? Gasp! Yes. Three impossible things have happened.

The Cubs won the World Series.

Young Justice got a season 3.

And a salty cheeto puff became president.

My faith in humanity has whiplash.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Three: Holding Out for a Hero

"I'm sorry about dragging you away from your families and friends today," Maggie Sawyer began. "But with yesterday's events, I didn't feel this could wait until Monday."

All the members of the Special Crimes Unit (now a round twelve) were gathered in the meeting room across the hall from Maggie's office. It was one of the old courtrooms that hadn't been completely gutted, so the wooden audience benches still remained, the backs and seats polished smooth from years of people sitting in them. The judge's stand also remained at the head of the room underneath the city seal, though it had been repurposed into a TV stand.

Other than Turpin, Colletta, and Detective Jones, there was Captain Aaron Jase, a twenty-year veteran. In a system that required accountability in order to function the way it was intended, Captain Jase was there to demand it from Maggie. His primary function was to override Maggie's authority if necessary, such as if a case had gotten to her head and she started demanding more revenge than justice. Since Maggie was a level-headed woman who wasn't in the habit of letting her heart rule her head, Captain Jase's duties largely consisted of maintaining the SCU's discipline and case records. He had never had to forcibly take command from her.

Sergeant Lupe Teresa Leocadio-Escudero was third in command behind Turpin and she had been a member of the SCU for a little longer than Maggie. Formerly a Watch commander, she was responsible for coordinating the troops from headquarters.

Leslie "Lee" Marzan and Greg Pittarese had both been beat cops in the theft division when they had first come to the SCU, but Maggie had promoted them to detective as soon as the transfer paperwork went through. They weren't talented stand-outs, but they both displayed a solid, admireable work ethic and an unwavering loyalty to their badges. They were the typical bickering pair of short and squat versus tall and thin. Pittarese was built like a cannon ball while Marzan was whipcord thin.

Sergeant Midge Kesel was generally considered 'fourth in command', though she had no official ranking as such. She had been part of Narcotics before her transfer and had a prolific record of solved cases.

Lyle Beedler had come to them out of Forensics, after a stranger case had demanded his expertise. He specialized in digital forensics and was their all-around techie by default.

Previously a beat cop out of Operations, Officer Corey Mills had training in heavy weaponry and was also a member of SWAT. He filled in the 'recklessly overconfident' requirement of any small group.

"Before we begin, I'd like to take a moment to properly welcome and introduce you to Detective James Gordon, our first addition to the department in over a year." Maggie said, gesturing to the detective in question. Gordon waved a hand in acknowledgement. "He joins us from Homicide and that will be his speciality while he is with us."

The response was warm if full of sniggers of muffled laughter. Their lieutenant's ongoing campaign to recruit the aforementioned detective had been no secret. To see that she had finally gotten him amused them greatly.

Now it was just a matter of keeping him.

"Onto business." Maggie declared, changing her posture to an authoritative one. "At ten-thirty Friday morning, we received about forty 9-1-1 calls all saying the same thing. The Labrr _-_ \- How do you even pronounce that, 'La-birr'? Anyways, the Labrr super-store in Highville was attacked in what the rest of the force is calling a terrorist threat. This is what happened."

She turned to the television and clicked the remote at it, bringing up high-quality footage from the store's digital security cameras. The image showed the familiar profile of their colleague, Colletta, on her phone, and Lois Lane when part of the ceiling suddenly caved in. Then Herniated-Shoulders was standing there in his blue unitard and red vinyl cape. Maggie paused the playback.

"This man is so far unidentified. We're not getting any matches back on face rec and he didn't leave any DNA at the crime scenes. If anyone recognizes his face or his shoulders, please speak up now."

No one did.

Maggie unpaused the video.

They watched the spectacle play out in full, captured from most angles by the security cameras. Herniated-Shoulders made his attack and then Superman arrived to get thrown across the store. Everyone but Colletta and Maggie winced when the digital version of the young cop started emptying the clip of her gun on the two attackers and nothing happened. They all winced again when Herniated Shoulders finally took off through the ceiling, smiled when Superman and Lois Lane shook hands, and the video ended in a blank gray screen.

"And there you have it. As you can imagine, they called Code Veitch on this one, so it's in our court." Maggie said. "You can read Officer Kanigher's full report. It's the unedited version, so it's mostly all swearing and no punctuation, but it re-tells the event well enough. I believe Miss Lane also posted another point of view on her blog this morning, but I haven't had the chance to read the entry."

She wound the security footage back up to the point when Superman and Herniated Shoulders were briefly slugging it out, and then paused the playback again.

"You can see Superman here. We've already confirmed his flight ability, but it looks like we're adding super-strength, invulnerability, and some sort of heat vision ability to the list." the lieutenant went on. "Like Superman, this second individual is strong, flight-capable, and as Officer Kanigher proved, likewise immune to bullets. We can assume that extends to most, if not all forms of bodily harm. In all likelihood, we are dealing with a F.I.S.S. In metahuman vernacular, that stands for flight, invulnerability, speed, strength, which historically, has been a common arrangement of powers. The other acceptable term is 'Flying Brick', but please use 'F.I.S.S.' on any official reports."

Detective Pittarese raised a hand. "Is Superman a F.I.S.S. too?" he asked.

"Not with that heat vision." Colletta said.

Maggie nodded. "As far as I've been able to tell, a F.I.S.S. generally never displayed any additional powers. In Superman's case, we may be looking at a mixed bag." she said. "Our F.I.S.S., however, is the one we're concerned with, regardless of what you might hear from upstairs."

The various members of the SCU exchanged looks, with Turpin's being the most severe by default. Gordon nodded to himself as he took notes and Detective Jones looked about as serene and unmovable as a Buddha statue.

"He attacked a total of six stores across Metropolis, starting in Highville. Then one on St. Martin's Island, two in Midtown, one in Hamstead, and the final one in Oaktown. No deaths, fortunately, but still plenty of injuries. Chopper surveillance lost him over Lake Superior. Superman also appeared in three more stores to fight the F.I.S.S., which certainly helped reduce the chances of loss of life."

There was a vague patter of applause that lasted only a second.

"Given his choice of attire and general appearance, we are given reason to believe that this F.I.S.S. was intending to have been mistaken for Superman." Maggie said, making sure she had the attention of her people when she spoke, because this was the most important part. "All things considered, the profilers have theorized that the F.I.S.S. was trying to discredit Superman before he gained a positive reputation."

"But that doesn't make any sense." Sergeant Kesel shook her head. "If there's no reputation to destroy, then what's the point?"

"Schrödinger's reputation." Turpin grunted, his brows drawn inwards thoughtfully. "Two weeks out and Superman the concept is gaining upwards momentum. Someone did an online poll already and let me tell you, the 'want' outweighed 'do not want' by a good two thousand votes. There's still a lot of potential for what he _could_ become and someone doesn't want it to be good."

"Thank you, Dan." Maggie nodded.

"Vigilantism is illegal in our county." Officer Mills pointed out.

"Yes, but this was not the behavior of a vigilante." Detective Jones said, ceasing to look so serene. "Superman's actions are technically protected under the good Samaritan laws, as well as under Article Three One India Zulu Five in the Superhero Code of Conduct. That one protected superheroes from legal prosecution without just cause. The Code of Conduct has not been repealed."

"But the good Samaritan laws _-_ -" Officer Mills started, looking a bit frustrated, since he knew those laws well enough.

"Are a bit fuzzy in this state." Maggie interrupted before he could really start complaining. "I agree that they're a little convoluted, but I imagine Detective Jones double-checked them."

She glanced at the detective questioningly.

"I did." The black man nodded. "Superman is protected by Duty to Act, since we cannot prove his employment. He could very well be an EMT or a law enforcement official. If he is not, then he is still protected under the Code of Conduct. Alias, costume, visibility, altruistic intentions. He fits the immediate requirements to be classed as a provisionary hero."

"Thank you." Maggie nodded, appreciative of his thorough research. "Let's focus on our F.I.S.S., who was actively endangering lives. As the Special Crimes Unit, it's our duty to bring him in _-_ -"

"Lieutenant! That's crazy!"

"Who told you that nonsense?"

"What are you talking about? We can't! We literally can't!"

"Yeah! There's still only twelve of us! We don't have the numbers!"

"I'm aware!" the lieutenant shouted, to get control of the room back. "I'm aware of our laughably small numbers and lack of equipment, but this is our primary duty. It's literally in the job description. The SCU was a police-level extension of the D.E.O. before being absorbed into Met P.D. back in eighty-nine. You all knew this coming in. Don't get cold feet just because it's real now."

A disgruntled and mostly unintelligible grumble rolled across the room and back again. From what little Maggie understood of it, her people were complaining that lassoing metahumans was not what they had signed up for. But that it was in the SCU's handbook and they were required to read that from cover to cover and get quizzed over it before she let them out into the field. They knew what was expected of them.

They just didn't like it.

"Now come on, folks, the lieutenant's right. It's what we do." Captain Jase decided to step in and apply some of his own authority. "I came onto the force just as the Scare was kicking in to top gear. Trust me, you don't want nasty metas running loose to wreak chaos over an urban center like Metropolis. The sooner we catch this bastard, the safer our city will be."

"And how are we even supposed to catch him?" Turpin asked, the all-important question. "The handbook has procedures listed, but there's no descriptions. We don't have the training even if we knew what to do. We don't have the equipment. We don't even have enough members to meet the minimum fifteen-person task force. Only eight of us _-_ \- well, ten, I guess _-_ \- go out on call."

"I'm aware." Maggie repeated, more flatly this time. Lyle had no training in the physical aspect of police work; he helped Sergeant Escudero coordinate from the monitor room. Likewise, Captain Jase stayed indoors and provided feedback when the folks upstairs asked for updates.

Even with the additions of Detective Gordon and former agent Steve Trevor (his paperwork was stamped and filed; he would come in as an Officer First Grade. It was just a matter of waiting out his time in protection), they still couldn't form even one team of fifteen field operatives and still have someone watching their butts from the cameras. The procedures had been written with the expectation that the SCU would employ upwards two hundred people. And at the height of the Scare, there had been close to two hundred and fifty people.

Since the collapse of the D.E.O., it was just a miracle that the SCU had been absorbed into the police department at all.

"Not to mention we're overworked as it is." Sergeant Escudero added, crossing her arms. "Throwing metas onto our list of problems? ¡Maldita sea! We'd be dead within an hour!"

"Damn straight." Detective Marzan agreed.

"Amen." Detective Pittarese muttered, to a murmur of agreement.

"Then we'll just have to improvise." Maggie told them.

"Admirable, but foolish." called out a voice from the doorway that had everyone turning around to see who the speaker was. Leaning on the frame with all the weight of a statue and the presence of a thunderstorm was a heavily built black woman who looked at the SCU with an expression like she was about to become either their best friend or their worst enemy.

"Can I help you...?" Maggie asked, leaving the question hanging for the woman to fill in her name.

"Amanda Waller." the woman replied, beginning her queenly stride down the center aisle. "I am the director of Bureau 39, an organization I believe you've become well acquainted with in recent weeks, Lieutenant Sawyer."

"Unfortunately." Maggie tried not to roll her eyes. "But I was under the impression the man in charge was Agent Jason Trask."

"His position with our organization has been terminated." Waller informed them. "While the circumstances are classified in the interest of internal security, I am permitted to tell you that he made a very large mistake."

"Then we've seen the last of that bastard?" Turpin asked hopefully.

"Yes." Waller nodded. Her eyes roved through the entire staff of the SCU, looking at each one of them like she was evaluating their skills and potential on the spot. Her face gave away nothing of what she was thinking, which was a little unnerving.

Then she finally turned back to Maggie.

"Lieutenant Sawyer, I apologize on the behalf of the government of the United States for Trask's rude imposition on your already over-taxed organization." Waller said politely, even though the underlying tone suggested she really didn't think that much of them either. "In the spirit of a new beginning, I would like to formally extend a helping hand. Bureau 39 has procedures for apprehending metahumans, ones that were originally developed out of the D.E.O.'s. I am willing to offer time and training in order for you to successfully capture Trask's Prometheus, a.k.a. Superman."

Maggie just held in a frown. "We're not after Superman. We're after a F.I.S.S. who endangered countless lives yesterday and may threaten many more in the near future if the situation isn't handled promptly. I will, however, not turn down that offer."

Waller's expression flickered just slightly. "Lieutenant Sawyer, if I may stress your priorities..."

"No, the lieutenant's priorities are very much in order." Captain Jase stood up to be better seen over the heads of his colleagues. "Director Waller, this F.I.S.S. is a far greater danger than Superman at the present time. He actively and knowingly endangered lives while Superman protected them. This F.I.S.S. is our first and, for the moment, our _only_ priority."

Waller's lips thinned. "I don't believe we are acquainted. You would be who?"

"Aaron Jase, Captain." he said. Then to clarify, he added: "I am not the commander of the SCU. My position is strictly supervisory.

"Now if Superman about-faces and starts attacking people, we'll reconsider the idea that he is dangerous, but we have not come to that point. If it's all the same to you, we'll deal with the more immediate problem."

"Likewise," Detective Jones began, sitting up a little so he was more visible. "Superman can be classified as a provisionary hero which protects him from any immediate retaliatation regardless of your position in the government, Director Waller."

"There is no paperwork on file." Waller pointed out.

"There is nowhere for the paperwork to be turned in, much less any in existence." Detective Jones said calmly. "If you wish for Superman to be above the board in a manner you are accustomed to, then you may present him with the appropriate forms." He shook his head. "But I do not think it should be necessary for someone to fill out in triplicate a twenty-page form in order to considered a superhero."

"Our government made it clear over ninety years ago that metahumans could not run around as they pleased and that heroes must be regulated and held accountable." Waller said evenly. "If you would like to challenge the government's position on the matter, you may do so, but I couldn't guarantee you a win. The last time anyone tried, hundreds were dead by the end of it."

Maggie winced slightly. That wasn't exactly something to bring up in any civilized setting.

"Say, have you spoken to Sofia Gigante lately?" Gordon asked.

The words were loud and fearless; he wanted Waller to hear them. Everyone around the detective went "oooh!" like they had just heard a really good burn, thumping Gordon on the shoulder and soliciting high-fives and fist-bumps.

"Detective!" Maggie hissed reprimandingly and he did cringe, but he didn't look chastised.

Gordon had submitted an official report alongside Colletta's to provide a second point of view for the events surrounding Superman's very first appearance two weeks earlier. This had also included the run-up to the encounter with Sofia, a summary of his interview with Lois (her name had been blacked out) and thus included the confirmation that Trask was working with the mafia queen in some capacity.

What he was basically asking Waller was if she was also contact with the mafia queen, intending to pick up where Trask had left off. That was not the note Maggie wanted to start this off on. Not if Waller was willing to be much more cooperative than her predecessor.

Waller blinked slowly, her expression giving a troublesome flicker into something that looked like anger, but it smoothed over so quickly they couldn't tell for certain.

"Whatever illegal ventures my predecessor was involved in, I assure that I now have nothing to do with them." she said. "I am beginning a systematic overhaul of Bureau 39. I expect it to take until the end of the year. Until that time, many of the staff will be off their regular assignments. I have considered lending them to you, pending the approval of your commanders."

"Well, I'm for it, though I do have misgivings." Captain Jase said. "Director Waller, thank you for your input. We'll think seriously about your offer and try to give you an answer before this time next week. But please understand we had a very hostile and antagonistic relationship with your predecessor, so forgive us if we seem wary of your offer."

Waller nodded. "I hope to hear back from you soon." she said. "I can still be contacted as the same number."

She departed as quietly as she had initially arrived, leaving the SCU to regard her exit with a mixture of concern and suspicion.

"So..." Officer Mills started. "Trask is no longer part of the government."

"Yes." Detective Jones nodded.

"And if I were to _accidentally_ shoot him in the dick..."

"Accidental discharge happens." Colletta commented, nodding to the idea.

"As long as enough eyewitnesses claim that Officer Mills dropped the gun and it went off on its own." Turpin added.

"We'll burn that bridge when we come to it." Maggie said, smiling all the same. "Now I'd like to get back to Dan's earlier point that someone is trying to pre-emptively wreck Superman's nascent reputation. If you weren't watching the news last night, then you missed out on some real bullshit. Lyle, if you could."

Lyle pulled up another video onto the laptop and it appeared on the larger television screen (since the computer was hooked up to it). Before Maggie even hit play, they all saw the dark-skinned and wide-eyed face of Dierdre Merlo, the CEO of Future World Industries. The segment had been recorded yesterday afternoon in order to play out on the ten o'clock news. She looked immaculate, as always; her black hair groomed and styled, held in place by a decorative comb. Her make-up was absurdly perfect, the winged eyeliner something to be jealous of.

The lieutenant gave her people a look like _Brace yourselves._

The video started in the middle of the GBS reporter speaking.

"- _-saying now that Superman in possibly a danger to the city. What are your thoughts on that?_ "

" _Oh I very much believe that Superman is a danger to the city._ " Ms. Merlo replied in a sweet, melodic little girl voice that was at odds with her mature appearance. " _How could he not be, attacking good and honest citizens like that? It's a tragedy, is what it is. Why must we, the hard-working people who get by on our own merit, live our lives in constant fear of these destructive metahumans-_ -"

Maggie stopped the video. "I'm going to end that here. The whole segment is five minutes long and she gets more inflammatory until she's practically screaming for full euthanization of metas, so watch it on your time and at your own peril." she informed them. "Lyle, the second video please."

This time, it was the familiar shine of Lex Luthor's bald head. He was clad in his usual black suit that was as clean and immaculate as the top of his head. He was sitting in a patch of full sunlight that set off a nice gleam on his cufflinks and tie pin and gave his dark eyes a glimmer that probably wasn't supposed to look sinister.

" _Superman a danger to the city?_ " Luthor started, in response to the same question. " _Well, it would be premature to jump to such an extreme conclusion, but we have seen a demonstration of his power. And I'm quite sure that was only a fraction of what he is truly capable of. So yes, in my humble opinion, Superman is dangerous. A man of his great power could be nothing but._

" _Furthermore, we have no idea who this Superman is. Where did he come from? What does he want? What is his purpose for being here in Metropolis? We have no answers. We would be foolish to trust him at all, never mind placing our lives in his hands._ "

" _Do you think the city leaders should take action against him?_ " the reporter questioned.

" _At this early stage? No, of course not. He could flatten the city in the blink of an eye._ " Luthor shook his head briefly. " _Caution over action is what I would suggest for the time being. Until we learn of a weakness, there is very little we could do in retaliation_ - _-_ "

Maggie stopped the video and turned off the television.

"He carries on for another minute like that, so on your own time and at your own peril." she repeated. This business man had a calmer tone and a less volatile stance, but he sounded no less provoked, as if he personally had been offended by Superman's appearance yesterday.

"Let's run down the numbers." the lieutenant started. "One: Luthor and Merlo are two of the loudest voices in the city and they're both agreeing that Superman is a danger to the people. It would take the combined forces of the _Daily Planet,_ the _Daily Star_ , and the _City Post_ to out-shout both of them.

"Two: Both have so far failed to mention the F.I.S.S. While I would believe that Ms. Merlo never bothered to view the available footage, Luthor would never dare be so uninformed.

"Which means, three: the information could have been doctored before it reached the news, in order to back up the claims made by both of these people. As far as I know, none of the news sources in the city were given access to the full footage. So four: I believe that someone wanted to incite these exact responses and stop Superman in his tracks. Stop him before we can see what he becomes."

"But to what end?" Detective Jones inquired rhetorically. "What do they hope to gain from this course of action?"

Turpin shuddered. "I don't think any of us want to find out." he commented. The last time anyone had gone around stonewalling metahumans in _any_ capacity, the Scare _-_ \- already in progress then _-_ \- had turned violent.

"This brings us back around to our original problem." Maggie went on. "We can't catch the F.I.S.S. on our own. We're all normal, unpowered people here, just as fragile and breakable as you can imagine. But the commissioner wants us to catch the guy and we have free rein on how we do it. Historically, the D.E.O. often used metahumans to catch metahumans, so we would hardly be stepping outside of our jurisdiction if we requested Superman's assistance."

"On that note, since he does meet the provisional classification under the Code," Captain Jase added, starting to smirk. "We are still within our right to ask him for help."

"It's just a matter of convincing the people in charge that this is the best course of action." Maggie said. "Which means we need to out-shout Luthor and Merlo."

The rest of the SCU started to smile knowingly.

"Officer Kanigher? Talk to Lois Lane. She's our best contact in the _Daily Planet_ and if she can't convince her editor, her blog still gets forty thousand hits a day. I'll talk to Lori and see if she can secure some cooperation from her editor." Lori Raynes, her girlfriend and a report for the _Metropolis Star_. "Does anyone know someone from the _City Post_?"

Gordon raised a hand. "My fiancée does. Fashion column, though."

"Better than nothing. Get yourself introduced to someone on the city desk and pray to god they have enough sway with their editor." the lieutenant instructed. "We'll convince those three to collaborate if we have to."

She just hoped their three-pronged attack would amount to something instead of leaving them flailing in the wind.

* * *

Across town and several hours later, Ms. Merlo's rant on the dangers of Superman and metahumans was replaying on the evening news. She spoke in loud passionate tones that started to take on a hysterical edge by minute three. By minute five, it was a full-fledged rant. When Ms. Merlo stopped to take what was probably her first breath since minute two, Johnathan stabbed the mute button.

"That's just five minutes of bullshit." he commented, appalled that anyone could be so inflammatory for so long.

Clark nodded his agreement. He hadn't been expecting praise and welcome remarks from all corners, not with the world so jaded against the idea of superheroes, but for someone to act as though the idea had been birthed from Satan's asshole and had immediately set out to murder small children...

He stared thoughtfully at Ms. Merlo's silenced rant while his legs stiffened under one hundred and twenty pounds of white-furred dog. Krypto was still convinced he was indeed small enough to fit into Clark's lap, despite the obvious fact he had outgrown that lap about four years ago.

Clark scratched idly behind the dog's ears.

"That looks a little uncomfortable." Johnathan commented, noting the cross-legged position that his son's legs had assumed in order to accommodate the large fluffy beast. "Still got some feeling left in your toes, son?"

Clark smiled. "They aren't tingling yet." he said. Sometimes, he wondered if his blood vessels were just a lot more resistant to being pinched shut.

"My knees would have seized up the second I tried to bend them like that." Johnathan said, gesturing with the mug of hot chocolate he was holding. "Got 'em all beat up playing football in high school and now I'm reaping the rewards in my old age."

"You're not old." Clark replied automatically, his all-purpose response whenever his parents commented on their ages. Even if they weren't getting any younger, they still weren't as old as they joked.

Johnathan smiled appreciatively, but he knew full well that his knees creaked sometimes and Clark heard it. His dad was hale and healthy for a man of his age, but even a lifetime of hard farm labor had to catch up sooner or later. Not that it would stop Johnathan Kent. He'd putter around the farm on creaky joints until they rusted over like hinges and yet still insist on cleaning the chicken coop.

As stubborn and solid as the ground their feet, he was.

It was just the Kents now. Pete had had to leave rather earlier than planned; he had been going to depart with Johnathan and Martha on Sunday afternoon. Instead, his sister-in-law had gone into labor a little sooner than calculated and he could hardly miss the birth of his first niece, so he had caught a flight out a few hour ago.

The news was replaying all the footage of Superman was there was available, as he was the hot controversy tonight. The recap included the photo of Lois's swooning damsel pose that had made its rounds on social media.

Johnathan smiled, looking vaguely smug but also proud. "Nice catch, son."

"Lois hates that picture. I think she would burn the camera of whoever took it if she could find them." Clark said. "She says it should be the cover of a pulp sci-fi novel and not a front-page picture in a legitimate newspaper. Besides, they talk about that like I'd just caught her."

Johnathan blinked. "You didn't?"

"Nope. She was still very much conscious when I put her down in one of the buildings nearby. _That_ ," Clark pointed at the displayed photo. "Was after I'd stopped Nam-Ek."

"Oh, there is it. The culture of misinformation." Martha commented dryly, coming around the to the living area with three bowls balanced across her hands. "They must have muddled the timeline by the time the story reached us in Smallville."

"There wasn't a lot of information at first. Not until Lois put up a blog post." Clark pointed out, reaching out to take one of the bowls. Martha had baked an apple pie this afternoon. It was still warm and there was a scoop of vanilla ice cream slowly melting alongside the slice. He had about five minutes before the whole thing melted into delicious soup.

Martha beamed. "She seems like a nice young lady, that Lois. She's good for you, keeping you on your toes." she said. Granted, most of what Clark had said about Lois Lane had boiled down to 'insane', 'impulsive', and 'impressive', but a mother like Martha Kent could hear the faint undertones of fondness.

"Have you thought about inviting her out to the farm some time?"

"Mom! It hasn't even been two months!"

"When you get to know her better, of course. It doesn't have to be next weekend." Martha said, waving a hand. She handed Johnathan the second bowl of pie and ice cream and sat down on the couch.

Invite Lois Lane, city slicker extraordinaire, out to Smallville? It was wishful thinking at its finest. Clark sincerely doubted he could convince Lois to travel out to Smallville with him, no matter how much of close friends they might become. She was a city girl, he could see that much about her. She was accustomed to the buzz and beat of Metropolis. Maybe even a little addicted to it. Her horrified tone when he asked if she'd been to Kansas gave him the impression now that actually leaving Metropolis, for her, would be equivalent to unhooking a blood transfusion before it was done.

"Don't frown like that, Clark. It'll stick that way when the wind changes." Martha added. A frown had never suited her son's face.

"Sorry, I'm just _-_ -" Clark rubbed his hands over his face as if to physically wipe away the frown. "I know I did something good, but it just doesn't feel like it."

"Because of the attention you're getting for it?" Johnathan asked. "Well, being visible like that is going to attract attention. If you're planning to carry on with this hero business, you're going to get a lot more."

"You're not something they've ever seen before, Clark. Well..." Martha hesitated for a moment to think back on her World War II history. "Well, you're not something they've seen in a long while. Not since..." She looked to her husband with a blank expression.

Johnathan shrugged. "Wonder Woman, probably." he answered. "She had all the same powers as you _-_ \- except for the laser vision. I don't think she had that."

"But I remember they said she could fly, she was very strong and fast, and she was very difficult to hurt." Martha counted off the attributes on her fingers. "None of the other members of the Justice Society could do what she could do and she disappeared just after the war was over in Japan, so the world hasn't see someone like her in sixty years."

"And then you come along." Johnathan added brightly. "You kept people safe yesterday, son. There's no denying that."

"I know." Clark nodded. It frustrated him that he couldn't pin down why he felt so conflicted. He had kept people safe; no one had died on the scene and it sounded like everyone in the hospital weren't going to die of their injuries. There could have been loss of life yesterday, but thanks to him, they would keep on keeping on.

It had been the right thing to do.

But then there were these naysayers condemning him, screaming and declaring that he was a danger and a menace and leaving him with the feeling that he had interfered in the wrong way somehow.

And they were only talking about him too. Barely anyone at all had seen fit to mention the strongman who had been the actual cause of yesterday's problems. They seemed to content to look at Superman and accuse him of wrong-doing.

"Clark, what are you worried about?" Martha prompted worriedly. She hadn't seen such an intense look on his face since they had told him about his alien origins.

Clark looked up at his parents. "How the world is going to react to this. All of Metropolis has seen me by now, but just wait until the rest of the nation gets a load of me. The government, the military... They'll know what I can do and they'll probably think I can do more. What stops them from turning me into a political pawn? What stops them from making me their new weapon of mass destruction?"

"Clark Jerome Kent!" Martha snapped, using the Full Name, a sure sign he had said the wrong thing. "First of all, if you start thinking like that, it could just happen! Don't you dare let it! Don't you dare let anyone compromise the good man you are! Is that understood?"

The second her voice had risen, Clark had pressed himself to the back of the chair as if he could get away from her shouting.

"Yes, Mom." he said, nodding quickly.

"And that's why you should do an interview." Johnathan suggested. "I know it means putting yourself out there even more, but it'll give you the chance to express your views."

"But _-_ \- What if they don't think I should be _-_ \- interfering?" Clark asked. People were already arguing that he was just sticking his nose in where it didn't belong. The loudest voices of Metropolis were having their say.

"You're not going to be able to avoid the naysayers, I'll say that right now. But the important thing is to get your side of the story out there." Johnathan said, while his wife nodded in agreement.

"It's not going to hurt you if people are allowed to know a little about you." she said. "If you don't start talking to the press, you'll never be able to defend yourself when you need to. Look at what's happening to that fellow in Central City."

Clark must have still looked quite skeptical, because what if he still did an interview and people started talking as much shit about him as they did about Zoom the Saffron Streak? Not that Zoom wasn't deserving every ounce of vitriol; he really was a very disagreeable person. But Zoom was the precise example of what Clark feared his 'superhero' persona could become. A target for anger and undefined hate. A dartboard for people to pin blame on, however irrational. Rising gas prices, hiked taxes, and the president sucks, and it was somehow his fault.

"What if they want me to fix problems I can't do anything about?" he asked. "I can't lower taxes or make the politicians smarter or wipe out the national debt. What if I start catching flak for that?"

"They've got no business assuming that that's something you can do." Martha said firmly. Her husband nodded.

Both of Clark's parents believed in doing the heavy lifting yourself. They didn't find much reason to respect someone who wanted to accomplish something but wasn't willing to put in the hard work and effort to get there. They found people like that to be irritatingly lazy.

"Clark." The chair creaked under Johnathan as he leaned forward. "I think, sometimes, people just need a hero. Someone they can look up to. Someone they can aspire to be. Besides, you'll still be Clark Kent. Superman just helps out from time to time."

Clark shrugged and finally stuck a fork into his neglected slice of pie. Best to eat it before the ice cream melted. "I guess I need to talk to a reporter who's willing to give me a proper airing."

"I'm sure that Lois Lane is just the reporter you need to talk to." Martha suggested casually. "She sounds like exactly what you need. Fair, unbiased. Her articles are solid. I enjoy reading them."

"And you already saved her. I'm sure she'd be willing." Johnathan said. "If you think you can trust her, go to her for an interview. The last thing you want is for people to get the wrong impression of you."

With that, the matter seemed to be settled. Clark turned the idea over in his head. Perry had rung him up around noon to tell him that Lois had just about changed her mind. That she was putting the Gigante story on the back burner in favor of the Big Story that had gone down right in Metropolis's backyard, eagerly agreeing to the task of getting an interview with "Superman". There were two dozen reporters whose new assignments were to pin him down so Lois could go in for the kill, which prompted slightly bizarre mental imagery akin to a nature documentary with the British narrator expounding the superior hunting attributes of the common _Homo Reportus_ against the _Homo Kryptus_.

He shook his head briefly to get rid of the imagery.

There was one thing that he couldn't ignore. It was that, sooner or later, Lois would track him down. There was little doubt that she would collaborate with those two dozen reporters to put all the information together into one picture. One way or another, she was going to find him.

So if an interview was inevitable, then it oughta happen on Clark's terms.

* * *

-0-

no politics on the review board plz


	34. Before the Storm

We Colonial Heathens have Thanksgiving next week, so the next update will be on Dec 2nd.

I have also resumed work on Story 4.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Four: Before the Storm

Monday came around particularly gray and gloomy with thick thunderhead-like clouds dominating the sky. The morning light was more akin to late twilight and it didn't look like the sun had come up at all.

It was going to be a bad day.

James Harper didn't need to claim that he could feel it in his bones. He was over ninety years old. If experience had taught him anything, then it was time to batten down the hatches, latch the shutters, and stock the pantry against the rough hours ahead and spend the rest of the day praying that whatever storm was brewing didn't throw you around too hard.

The kids were nervous too. Normally, they were slumped all over the dining table, sometimes half asleep in their breakfasts because no matter how often they got up before seven, they still weren't used to it. They didn't have adult bodies that could "go the distance", if you will, and coffee didn't agree with them. More times than he could count had James picked someone (usually Big Words) out of the cereal bowl.

But today, they were huddled tense in their chairs, their gazes alternating between the table-top and the window as if they were expecting to see the apocalypse coming from the breakfast table. Scrapper ate his cereal without milk, Bobbi clutched her morning mug of hot chocolate with the worried air of a harried matron, and Big Words kept tugging off his glasses to polish them. Gabby's heel kicked at the leg of his chair at a pace that James was sure would break the leg right off, Flip blew bubbles into his juice, and Tommy pretended to read the paper. Only Suzi had given up the pretense, having relocated to the window seat alongside James to watch the dark and gloomy clouds turn slow circles above the city.

"I need you guys out there today." James said out loud, breaking the tense silence.

Tommy folded the paper over. "I figured you'd say that. Just patrol or?..."

"Specific. Investigation. I can't get away from the precinct today long enough to it myself." James explained. He pointed into the kitchen. "Folder's on the counter."

"Igotit!" Gabby was off his chair like a shot bullet and slid halfway across the kitchen tiles in his socks to grab the folder and come back. He threw the manila file folder down in front of Tommy and the rest gathered a little closer. Suzi quickly abandoned the window seat to join them.

James gave them a few moments to look over the details. The whole thing had been brought to his attention in a variety of ways, several of which could be traced right back to Lois Lane.

The first was the presence of the Slam, Sofia Gigante's personal prison. James had heard about it first through the former MCU detective Jim Gordon and it had alarmed him, because that was the first he'd ever heard of such a thing. If Gigante had one secret hide-away in the city, then she definitely had others. And he hadn't spent ten years uprooting the worst of the organized crime as Captain Ron Harper just to let someone else get a strangle-hold on the underworld.

Least of all a Falcone.

He had policed in Gotham through World War II. He knew what the Falcones were capable of.

So that had led James to searching out other possible secret buildings in the city that could have been under mob ownership. He had doubled his efforts when another front-pager of Miss Lane's had come out, this one decrying the likes of Dr. Norman Essex, a former S.T.A.R. Labs geneticist who had been under Gigante's employ until his disappearance two weeks earlier. This one had spoken at length about Dr. Essex's mad scientist inclinations and had even brought up the fact that Essex had been conducting unauthorized experiments on the corpses of homeless degenerates.

Following the official statement from Garrison Slater, Miss Lane had released a blog tearing that statement down. Even though Slater had fired him on the spot, there was still the matter that this had gone on for several weeks undetected. By the end of the blog, she was demanding the full disclosure of Dr. Essex's work while under S.T.A.R. Labs' employ.

S.T.A.R. Labs had yet to respond to any of this.

But it had reminded James of one particular thing. From about this past March up until August, there had been a rash disappearances, mostly homeless folk, around these parts. He wouldn't have regarded it as anything strange _-_ \- the homeless tended to be migratory, moving around with the weather and the food supply. But he had been a cop for nine decades and when people went missing in the same two block radius every week for six months straight and then the bodies turning up looking like they had met with the wrong end of a meat grinder, it was a sure sign someone was up to no good.

James had closed that particular investigation only recently, back in the middle of October when the clues had run out and it had been six weeks since anyone had last gone missing. No results and no real closure.

Until mad scientists and human experiments had turned up on his radar.

"Ugh!" was the collective noise from the kids as they got to the bottom, recoiling from the photos.

"Ew, who would do that?! Experiment on people _-_ -" Bobbi started to demand until Scrapper nudged her in the arm.

"Project M." he reminded her.

"Let me see this..." Big Words tugged the page of science-related stuff out of the folder to read it over. Out of all eight of them, he stood the best chance at really understanding it intimately.

"Jim, are you sure about this?" Tommy asked.

"Nope. That's why I need you guys to look into it. Confirm it for me." James said. "If you're willing." he added, since he would never try and force them.

"Ugh, human experiments are never a good sign." Flip said, sounding like he was already committed to the idea. "Even if the guy's not around anymore..."

"It needs to be handled." Suzi said firmly.

"Neveranyonebutus!" Gabby declared, striking a heroic pose.

Which meant they were going, but James hadn't imagined for a second that they wouldn't. Gabby's brain moved faster than his body, processing every sense and thought about five times faster than the rest of them. He could read the changes in their posture and expression before they were consciously aware of them. He always knew when Tommy had made up his mind before Tommy himself knew it.

"We'll call in an anonymous tip if we find anything." Tommy assured him. As they always did.

"Be careful. All of you."

* * *

Just off the elevator and Lois had already concluded that today was going to be _agonizing_. At least one of her favorite detractors lived in Clark's neighborhood and he was a nosey fucker. This bastard had to listen in on every shouted conversation that came in his hearing range. She only had so much room to doubt that he hadn't eavesdropped on her and Clark's shouting.

Her nagging suspicion was confirmed the moment she stepped around the corner into the newsroom. Anyone who noticed her entrance suddenly stopped whatever they were doing and stared and nudged their fellows until they stared too. Lois was already prepared for the whispers and the sidelong stares. The news being their trade, reporters were gossips by nature and with all the social media available right at their fingertips, it never took long for a rumor to get around.

Some of her favorite detractors had clearly already heard everything there was to hear. There was Bostwick, whom she had been partnered with briefly and the first to spread the idea that she was an uncompromising, loud-mouthed bitch. And Joyce, who seemed to hate Lois just because she didn't have anything better to do. Good ol' Sherry should have been a lot less biased for being a crime-beat reporter, but even she poked her head up over the cubicle wall and glare like Lois had stolen her boyfriend.

With every slip she made, those three where the first to pounce on the incident and make it seven times bigger than it actually was.

From the whispers that made their away around Lois now, it sounded like everyone believed that she had punched Clark in the face.

She ignored them as stoically as she could, putting up the icy cold front that made people take her seriously. Inside, she squirmed uncomfortably and fought an unusual flush of shame. She hadn't meant to snap at Clark, not for being _right_.

Because he was.

And damn if that hadn't been hard enough to admit to herself.

She _was_ a little jealous of him, for having two very wonderful parents who didn't make him _earn_ their affection. That he could just go and talk to them whenever he needed to and it wasn't like pulling teeth. She had a dead mom, a dad she couldn't talk to, and a little sister whom she was only just starting to get along with. They couldn't even pretend to play at happy families.

Clark, with his charming country parents from the farm, had been given no reason to think that her family-life was barely existent.

She had exploded on him because of his own ignorance on the subject. Because of something she couldn't have possibly expected him to be aware of.

Lois always arrived ahead of Clark on a good day, so he wasn't at his desk when she arrived at hers. She sat down, her coat and bag sliding down to the floor beside her. She stared blankly at her dark computer screen for a moment, her mind giving the absent buzz of a brain trying to fire the right synapses.

Then her forehead thumped onto the desk.

 _I am an idiot._

She head-desk'd to drive the thought home.

 _An idiot, Lois Lane. That's what you are. You are a super-massive idiot so vast and dense and sucky that a black hole looks like a tub drain in comparison._

She probably wouldn't get to talk to Clark again. He probably wouldn't even look at her; much less even say 'good morning' to her.

Clark had fallen into the habit quickly. By the second day, he would pass Lois's desk and say a warm 'Good morning, Ms. Lane' to her in a voice that made her toes curl and her lungs flutter and she would have a wild second to imagine to what it would be like to hear him say that in a still-sleepy voice before reality kicked her in the head. Then she'd reply back with a 'Heya Smallville', and the day would get underway from there.

He had started it on day two, but it had startled Lois quite thoroughly to realize that she had been looking forward to it even this morning. It always seemed to set a tone for the day, his unerringly cheerful voice. The drawl of his vowels, the twang on his consonants, that good farm boy deep Kansas accent that must have come from the roots of the earth.

Shad about fallen in love with Clark Kent's voice.

It wasn't going to be directed at her again.

Lois kicked herself in the leg as hard as she could. She drove the toe of her shoe into her calf muscle as far as it would go and thumped her forehead on the desktop again for good measure.

 _Super-massive idiot. You make the Milky Way itself look like a marble. He's not going to talk to you anymore. He's not even going to look at you or if he didn't have to walk by your desk, he wouldn't, you stupid-headed moron._

 _You_ _ **always**_ _do this. You always end up shoving people away so spectacularly that they don't come back because you're not worth the trouble. And the_ _ **one**_ _guy who was actually mostly decent and really nice and stuck around and stuck up for you when Lombarde was being an ass and you Fat Man'd him for no good reason just because you were in a bad mood and it had nothing to do with him you stone-cold bitch-_ -

"Good morning, Ms. Lane."

It came and went so quickly that Lois thought her mind had conjured it, but when she raised her head to see if her ears were playing tricks on her and looked over her shoulder, she saw Clark's broad shoulders and his solid backside _-_ \- and _hello dat ass never change shape_ _-_ \- beside his desk just behind her. He had his sleek leather satchel, his long coat draped over one arm and that boss fedora in his other hand. His voice had been quiet and certainly not as warm as the previous times. There had been a jarring note of uncertainty and the barest stutter.

But he had said good morning to her. Just as polite and cordial as he had always been.

She inhaled briefly to reply, but thought better of it and turned to fire up her computer instead.

 _Heya Smallville._

She was acutely aware that Clark was less than three feet behind her, but fortunately, Perry saved her from any would-be awkwardness by calling all the general assignment reporters into the conference room to hand out the stories that the editors had collected overnight. Lois sat on one end of the table and tried very hard not to stare at Clark on the other side. His tie was lopsided and his glasses were still absurdly dorky. But he was wearing the handsome charcoal-gray suit that Lois had bought for him, to replace the one that had gotten soaked in Lake Superior.

She was starting to wonder if he had meant to say more than just 'good morning'.

Part of her did a restrained little dance of optimism. Maybe he wasn't actually angry at her! Maybe he was just confused and unsure. A quick explanation and apology would clear things up for sure, this little optimistic part said with the unfailing certainty of someone who didn't know any better.

But the rest of Lois _did_ know better. There was no doubt in her mind that Clark hated her too now, just like everyone else. It always happened, any time she let herself think that she might have made a friend. Either her tongue slipped, or she got angry, or they told her outright what they thought about her (lovely flattering terms, truly).

The good thing was that Clark didn't seem like the type to come back and tear off the bandages. He would probably just let it go and they would both get on with their lives.

Separately, of course.

Lois glanced back at her one-time partner and sighed. God, he looked so nice in that charcoal-gray suit. And even the blue silk tie, crooked though it was.

"And Kent!" Perry barked, bringing Lois back to reality. "Water main break in Hamstead, Lynnhurst and Thirty-third. Everyone clear on their assignments? Good. Scatter!"

The reporters did just that with the furtive glances of people looking for excuses to stick around for just a second longer, but Lois couldn't recall if Perry had given her an assignment.

"Lane!" The editor beckoned her over, just as she got out of her seat to ask him.

"What's up, chief?" Lois asked, trying to affect her usual jaunty attitude.

"Don't call me 'chief'." Perry ordered, rather absently. "By the way," he started with a distinct note of caution. "What's going on between you and Kent? I thought you two were getting along and now I hear from the pipeline that you two had a fight?"

"It wasn't a fight. It was a misunderstanding." Lois corrected, much to her own surprise.

"I see. And is this misunderstanding going to be cleared up before day's end?" Perry wondered curiously.

Lois shrugged. "Probably not. Maybe not even tomorrow either." She ratcheted an eyebrow. "What, you expected it to last?"

"Yes." Perry said, looking startled as though he had expected his answer to be different. "I was hoping to eke six months out of the pair of you! Was that really too much to ask?"

"C'mon chief, you know just as well as I do that I don't like working with people. I have said that to you, multiple times." Lois said. She rolled her eyes, well aware that she was forcing the motion.

"Lois, your behavior towards Kent was downright friendly, especially compared to what you did with the last poor schmucks." Perry pointed out. "You bought him new clothes _-_ -"

"He was representing me. He had to look nice." Lois replied.

"Bought him lunch at least four times that I'm aware of. Don't get me started on how many cookies you threatened to buy him. You also paid for his dry-cleaning! You don't do anyone's laundry around here!"

"He was probably broke."

"Christ Lois, you didn't give him hell for the flowers!"

Lois shrugged again. "Painkillers."

Perry threw up his hands.

Lois crossed her arms. "It wasn't going to last. He's too..." She trailed off, trying to find an appropriate adjective. "He's too Kent..."

It was Perry's turn to raise his eyebrows. "He's too 'Kent'?" he repeated, bewildered.

"There's too much Clark Kent-ness about him." Lois said. It wasn't even an adjective, but it was the only thing that fit. "He's just too Clark Kent for my liking."

"Clark Kent is too Clark Kent." Perry said in a flat tone.

"Exactly."

Perry blinked. "Lois, what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Figure it out, I'm not doing everything around here by myself." Lois grumbled, pulling her crossed arms a little tighter. She shook her head. "Never mind, what's my assignment today?"

"You've been asked to do an interview today." Perry replied, glancing at his clipboard. "That Trask story of yours is sunk. I got a heads-up from Lieutenant Sawyer. She says Trask was kicked out of his government position and he's going to be court-martialed within an inch of his life."

"Really now?..."

"That's all she told me. You'll have to ask her for more information." he said. "And that 'Superman', nothing new on that front." the editor added unhappily. Likely the biggest story of the year (if not the decade) and they had almost nothing to show for it.

No one else had anything to show for it either, however. They were still in something of a race to get the first exclusive.

"I can live with an interview." Lois said. "Where am I going?"

The editor looked on the verge of not telling her anything, but he sighed. No way he couldn't tell her.

"It's for the West River restoration."

"Good, I can do that."

"With Deirdre Merlo."

"I can't do that."

"Lois _-_ -" Perry started sternly.

"No." Lois said, just as sternly.

"Lois, you don't have a choice." Perry told her. "Ms. Merlo requested you. She called me up directly and requested you. She isn't taking anyone else. It'll be good exposure for you."

"But it's a puff piece!" Lois complained. Any story about Deirdre Merlo carried the same warm and fuzzy feel-good feelings like stories about saving small fluffy things from storm drains.

"You need to work on your soft touch anyways."

"But why her? I _hate_ Merlo! Doesn't she know that?"

"No, she doesn't and you're not going to tell her." Perry said. "This is going to be the first interview she's given the _Planet_. Make it a good one. They're sending a chopper to pick you up, ten-thirty on the dot."

Lois glanced at the clock. It was nine-thirty now. "That gives me forty-five minutes to prepare, at best." she said. She didn't know a reporter alive who could prepare a decent interview in forty-five minutes. Even for a woman as insipid as Deirdre Merlo.

"Then hop to it." Perry suggested, turning her towards the door. "And bring me back something good. The public adores her."

"I don't." Lois said acidly.

"Don't let it show." the editor advised, steering her out into the newsroom.

This time, Lois didn't have to force rolling her eyes. She knew the etiquette of an interview. Even if she despised the person, she still had to put on her best face and modulate her voice so it didn't sound like she was accusing them of anything.

Perry headed back to his office to start shouting at people, as was his custom, and Lois wended her way across the newsroom. The thought drifted across her mind, absent and vacant about complaining about her assignment to Clark. A broken water main wouldn't talk back to her and be annoying. But when she finally spotted him, he was heading into the elevator lobby, his broad shoulders disappearing out of sight, and remembered that they weren't talking.

 _I guess that's what it's going to look like from now on. Always just seeing the back of him._ She thought. _That's gonna suck big time. Yeah, he's got a nice ass, but I like it when he smiles-_ -

Lois's hand tapped off her head just hard enough.

 _What the hell, Lane! You're pining! Stop that! It's not changing!_ She told herself sternly. _This was always the way it was going to be and why you thought differently I'll never know. You don't need some hunching dorky farm boy smiling at you just to get through your day._

But she had gotten used to that smile so very quickly...

"Lois!"

Cat Grant latched on to her, her arms winding octopus-like around the younger reporter in what was supposed to be a comforting hug.

"What's this horrible rumor I heard? Tell me it's not true! Tell me you and that gorgeous hunk of pure muscly sex didn't have a break-up fight!" she begged.

"Um..." Lois said, as Cat started stroking her hair.

"You poor thing! We'll make it a three-martini lunch and you can tell me all about it! This must be so awful for you, seeing that ass walk out before you got the chance to tap it!"

"Cat..." Lois groaned.

"It's alright, just let it out." Cat encouraged, patting her back. "Everything will be alright; you'll get over him. He wasn't that amazing."

"Cat." Lois shifted under the older woman's arms. "Kent and I weren't even together. I mentored him for a week and then Perry made us partners because I wasn't interested in killing him. That was about the extent of our relationship. If it went any further than that, then it's news to me."

"That's not what I heard." the gossip columnist pointed out, withdrawing her tentacle arms. "Now I didn't believe you actually climbed that tree, because you're not the girl who goes for that on the first date. But I heard that **something** certainly happened."

"That would be the _Daily Planet_ rumor mill in action." Lois said, nudging the older woman away. "Lombarde was talking shit and Kent said a thing that he took the wrong way and you can guess what happened from there. Clark and I? We're not even dating. We're friends. That's how he sees it."

"And how do you see it?" Cat prompted.

"I don't have friends. I have acquaintances and work-partners." Lois said. "Clark is a work-partner."

"Are _we_ friends?" Cat asked, the look in her eye suggesting that she would maim the younger woman if the reply wasn't positive.

Saying no would end in disaster, so Lois opted the less offensive, more flattering description.

"You're more like the older sister I don't have."

Cat beamed.

"Then as your older sister, I'm obliged to impart some advice." the gossip columnist declared, throwing an arm around Lois's shoulders. "The first thing you have to tell me is this: Has he talked about his past relationships?"

"Clark and I were caught in a vicious cycle of not talking about our personal lives." Lois replied dryly. She shrugged. "Which is fine, I guess."

"No, it's not. Not if you're going to working together over the long-term." Cat insisted. "There has to be _trust_ , Lois. There has to be a foundation of trust if you expect to build even a friendship. Any kind of relationship is a combination of give-take. You can't take without giving."

"Cat, I know the basics of a relationship _-_ -"

"You _know_ them, but have you _practiced_ them?"

"What does that mean?" Lois asked, frowning.

"Well, you can say all you want that you know how a relationship works, but be honest with yourself, Lois." Cat started, pulling back so she could better look the younger reporter in the eye. "You've admitted to me that you've been in all of two serious commitments, although the second one might have been more serious if you hadn't been so afraid of your own heteroflexibility _-_ -"

"Whoa, first of all, time out!" Lois held up her hands in the T. "Second of all, stop making assumptions. I'm _bi_ , not hetero. Thirdly, my dad's a military general and you know how the U.S. Army feels about any shade of queerness, so imagine what might happen if you spent your childhood listening to some 'don't go gay' rhetoric every week.

"Fourthly, what Clark and I _had_ , had no chance of going further than _-_ \- than a work partnership. No matter what it looked like, we are completely all wrong for each other. No chemistry. We would _-_ \- fight all the time."

Cat's plucked and salon-shaped eyebrows rose up towards her hairline in disbelief. Because that was not what she had seen between them. It took a very particular person to get along with Lois and she had briefly met Colletta from Lois's college relationship. Somewhere deep down, Cat acknowledged that she was not one of those people. But Lois hadn't tried to chase her away yet, so she would stick around until then.

But Clark _was_ one of those particular people. The sort who had something of an unidentifiable spark about them that drew Lois in, lured by a mystery that she wanted to unravel.

Yes, Clark Kent was something special and together with Lois, they could become something fantastic.

Cat didn't want to see that potential wither away before it got the chance to bloom.

"Are you sure about that?" the gossip columnist asked.

"Yes." Lois said firmly.

"No dating him?"

"No dating, Cat."

Cat shook her head in dismay and clicked her tongue. The fact that Lois didn't want to date was always something that seemed to flabbergast people. Men and women alike demanded to know why she didn't want to get with 'dat ass'. It was human nature, some argued, to seek out companionship. Why was she denying herself a basic human need, they wanted to know.

Given the assholes she had to deal with daily, Lois often felt that she had gotten quite enough of human company to last her the week. She didn't consider herself anti-social, but she chose her human company carefully.

It was just that none of the people she'd like to associate with happened to be her coworkers.

Except maybe Clark Kent.

"Okay, but..." she found herself saying suddenly, but broke off, not sure how to finish.

"But?..." Cat prompted.

"Okay, I won't lie..." Lois ground a hand into her forehead. "I _really_ wanted to tap that ass."

Cat burst out laughing.

That perfect-looking ass that was more than damn fine in a pair of blue jeans. Like two basketballs wrapped in denim. What she would have given just to put a hand on it. She would have paid Clark a hundred bucks if she could just tweak that fine-looking thing.

"See, doesn't admitting that feel good?" Cat asked, throwing her grabby tentacle arm back around Lois's shoulders. "Now of course, I know you well enough. When you want something, you go for it full-throttle."

Lois shook her head. "No, it's not that easy with Clark. He's not a guy you just go up to like 'you're attractive and I have needs, let's have sex'. He's a total gentleman of the biggest proportions I have never imagined. Like, this is the sort of guy I would call a prude. And he's this massive dorky sweetheart with this big mushy center who _holds the doors open_ and have you _seen_ him in that fedora! _-_ -" She took a breath. "But that does not mean he and I would get along."

Cat giggled. "Whatever you said, girl." she said complacently, resisting the desire to pat Lois on the head. This young lady was hip-deep in the thickest denial Cat had ever seen and was only sinking deeper with every word out of her mouth.

Well, she would figure it out in time.

"I need to go. I have to get in on the ground floor of the new LL fashion line. It's launching in an hour and it looks fantastic!" Cat said, excited over the new styles. "We'll do a three-martini lunch and you can spend it telling me why Clark Kent is no good for you."

"I didn't say he was no good for me!" Lois snapped, though Cat was already sashaying away. She made a 'forget it' gesture and began making her way back to her desk.

She felt slightly off-kilter as she sat back down at her desk, like the ground had been tilted twenty degrees under her but everything else was normal. She tugged a notepad and pen towards her to scribble down some questions for the interview.

All of a sudden, it occurred to Lois just how _big_ the newsroom was. The _Daily Planet_ was no small building. Sixty floors into the skyline and its footprint was at least half a city block with the employees-only parking garage on the other half. The newsroom itself was about two thousand square feet; the topmost of five newsrooms all dedicated to helping churn out the articles for publication. Something like one hundred reporters in each one who worked full-time and another one hundred part-timers and free-lancers on a rotating roster.

And everywhere Lois looked around the room, they were all chatting with someone. A grin here, a chuckle there, a fist-bump and a high-five and the strangest displays of camaraderie wherever she looked.

There was no one for her to fist-bump or high-five or even talk to. She didn't see Cat very often. They only met for lunch and usually only once a week because that was the only time their paths crossed long enough.

Suddenly, she felt more disconnected than ever before.

Lois didn't like making friends. She didn't like the process of getting to know someone, cycling between hope and uncertainty and that horrible painful yearning when you tried to open yourself up to another human being and praying you wouldn't be judged on shallow aesthetics.

Clark was probably the only guy who hadn't openly rejected her on the rumors alone. He was a good person. He had saved her butt and then that little girl and then a few other times beside. He had stood up for her when Lombarde had gotten handsy. His concern after Trask had punched her in the face. The flowers after the hospital _-_ \- yellow roses for friendship and chrysanthemums for something relating to friendship. He had practically told her what he'd thought of her with those flowers.

He had used flowers to call her a friend. But then she had shown her ugly side and what did he think of her now?

' _Good morning, Ms. Lane.'_

Whatever he thought now, he was keeping it to himself.

Lois thumped her forehead on the desk, groaning.

 _Stupid, stupid woman. You are_ _ **the**_ _super-massive idiot, except your gravitational field just slingshots everyone away and suddenly it's not you shoving them away, it's them shoving_ _ **you**_ _away. How d'ya like them apples, bitch?_

The newsroom bustled on around her and no one noticed her.

She just wasn't worth noticing anymore.

* * *

-0-


	35. Chapter 35

So the 3 1/2 way crossover between the Flash, Arrow, and Legends of Tomorrow (and some Supergirl) was actually pretty good.

Parts of this chapter might seem overblown or over the top, but it's that way on purpose.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Five:

Future World Industries was a home-grown success story, of which people only really knew the cliff-notes version. The truncated, sanitized-for-the-media version that edited out a lot of the backstabbing, blood-thirsty bits where the founders had pulled hair, cut in line, and stabbed people in their spleens.

The company had only come forward in the last five years or so with the appointment of the charismatic and attractive CEO Deirdre Merlo. The usual detractors had come at her first, for she couldn't have been more than twenty-one when she had been appointed and they demanded to know what business such a young, untested woman had running a nationally recognized company. They wanted to know what had made her more qualified than other candidates.

Lois suspected that the size of Ms. Merlo's jugs might have played a hand in it.

Ms. Merlo might have "played a hand" in it.

It was hard to say. Lois didn't want to cast disparagement in the event that Ms. Merlo had been appointed CEO based on her own merits as a businesswoman. But it was hard to ignore that the CEO had still been very young to be taking such a high-level position with no apparent skills that qualified her over other equally viable candidates.

Future World Industries was a conglomerate company that seemed to be out to copy the business model of Wayne Enterprises by dipping its fingers into a little bit of everything. Medicine, technology, engineering, chemicals, and they were making a slow push towards aerospace. They had grown far and fast since Ms. Merlo had taken the top desk, with ten branches in as many cities across the nation. They ranked up in the top fifty of most profitable companies in the United States.

At the very least, Ms. Merlo knew how to market her company appealingly.

The chopper came for Lois at the appointed time, when she barely had half the page filled with relevant questions. She bullcrapped the rest while the chopper ferried her across the Business District to far side near the Sundial Bridge out to Hell's Gate Island.

The Future World Industries building was one of the most distinct in Metropolis. It had a pyramidal base that leaned up through the first forty floors while the executive tower that housed the other ten was a weird spiraling thing, like the tip of a screwdriver. Sheathed completely in glass and highly reflective, with guided tours through some of the less sensitive departments where interesting things were happening and a visitor friendly observation deck, the building was easily a tourist draw all by itself. It was all sleek lines and chrome and steel and white tile floors, giving off the smooth sterile vibe that people expected in the future, when construction learned how to do away with ragged edges and dynamic colors.

Lois had been in the Future World pyramid a few times, but this was the first time she had ever set foot in the executive tower. The tone could not have been more different.

The sleek lines continued to be a feature, but gone was the chrome and the steel. Replacing it was dark cherry and mahogany. The floors were carpeted in a wine-red shag that made Lois feel like her heels were going to sink in with every step. The lighting was in-set and did almost nothing to brighten the halls, leaving a perpetual gloom.

But it wasn't the creepy kind of gloom that resulted from insufficient light.

It was more like _mood lighting_.

 _This feels unprofessional._ Lois thought, trying to ignore the sense of anxiety gnawing at her guts. _Why do I feel like I'm being led into a sex dungeon?_

The chopper had set down on the landing pad on the fiftieth floor, giving her direct access to the executive tower. She had been greeted by the executive assistant, a young woman with modest assets, but an immodest dress sense. The skirt was too short and a corset top, of all things to wear in an office setting, didn't cover enough. The corset top pushed up the set of jiggly breasts until she appeared to have more bounce in the chest region than otherwise. Her eyes were dark blue and her hair was a bottle-given color of blonde. She had looked Lois over, made a decidedly impolite face, and ordered her to follow.

The top two floors of the building were the most opulently decorated and Lois couldn't ignore the feeling that she had stepped off the elevator into a particularly classy brothel and smelled like it too. There were expensive artworks and statues and rich tapestries and yes, those were _silk drapes_ on the dark walls. Heavy brocade curtains framed the windows. The glass was tinted, making the already dark and gloomy morning seem even more so.

"Where's Ms. Merlo?" Lois asked, as the EA led her into what must have been a meeting area that looked far more like a very expensive living room. It definitely had the feel of a private lounge. It was opulent and featuring two leather couches that were squeaky in their shininess. There were two matching armchairs and a mismatched Victorian fainting couch. She tried to squash the feeling that she was going to be asked to take off her clothes.

The EA made a rude noise before saying: "She knows you're here. Don't be impatient." She pointed brusquely at a couch. "Sit down. Ms. Merlo will be along in a minute."

"You're rude." Lois told her bluntly. "Not even going to offer me a water?"

"It's not my job to cater to you." the EA snapped, making another impolite face, as though she considered the very idea of offering _anything_ to be truly abhorrent. "Your legs work, don't they?"

"You'd get fired anywhere else." Lois commented. She decided to be difficult and made a shooing noise. "Why don't you run along and get me a water. Cold, not frozen. From a vending machine."

The EA scowled. "Make me."

 _Oh, you were so not hired for your people skills._ Lois thought, smirking. Whether they liked it or not, an executive assistant had the task of being a good host in the sense that they arranged everything before the meeting. At minimum, it was polite to ask if the guest wanted anything to drink.

Lois opened her mouth to explain this to the impertinent chit, but she was cut off when a soft, purring voice chimed out like a small bell.

"Amelia, you mustn't be rude to our visitors." Ms. Merlo said, gliding into the lounge. There was no other way to describe her movement and rolling gait. It was a glide, as smooth as silk on polished glass. There was a sensual sway in her hips and not the slightest hitch in her stride. Her glossy black hair shimmered in the low lighting and her liquid dark eyes glittered. Her golden toned skin took up a burnished hue. She had long painted fingernails and she trailed them, rather suggestively, over the exposed shoulder of her EA.

"Please fetch Miss Lane a bottle of water." Ms. Merlo said to the younger woman. "You're being very rude. And I expect you to apologize."

The EA ducked her head with a shamed expression. "I'm sorry, Ms. Merlo."

"Apologize to Miss Lane, not to me." the CEO instructed with the patience of a sainted mother.

The EA turned to Lois, barely raising her head to meet the reporter's eyes.

"I'm sorry for being rude. It won't happen again." she said, in a tone that was just sincere enough to pass muster, but held enough of a sneer to show that she wasn't actually apologizing and it probably _would_ happen again.

"Very good." Ms. Merlo lightly touched the dyed black hair. "Don't let me catch you being rude to the guests again, Amelia."

"Yes, Ms. Merlo."

"Now go and fetch that water."

"Yes, Ms. Merlo."

The EA turned and left. Ms. Merlo turned to her guest with the smile that had won her a prize for being the best smile in the city. Her teeth were very white and even. If work hadn't been done on them, Lois would be shocked.

"Hello, Miss Lane. Thank you for accepting my offer." the CEO said. Her voice purred like a contented cat and she glided into the sitting area, extending a shapely hand. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. The whole city has been talking about you."

Squashing down her general revulsion, Lois took the hand in a loose handshake.

"It's funny, they're talking about you too." she said, trying to make adequate small talk.

"And you're here to tell them all about what I have to say." Ms. Merlo chirped brightly, her eyes oddly wide and child-like.

"Shall we get started?" Lois asked. This was going to be a strain; she could tell already.

Lois had done plenty of interviews before; enough that she knew how an interview was supposed to go. Some people just wanted to talk about their stuff to the first person who would listen. Others chatted on so much that she was usually forced to interrupt them just to get anywhere. Others were more difficult or unprepared or tongue-tied and it took prompting before they put the words out there.

It only took two questions for Lois to conclude that Ms. Merlo was a horrible person to interview. She wasn't deliberately rude or uncooperative. No, she was perfectly pleasant, she spoke clearly for the recording, and she waited patiently for Lois to make her notations. She was easily the most cooperative person that Lois had ever had the opportunity to interview.

The problem was that she just didn't fucking answer the questions.

Lois kept her questions on point. The topic was the urban renewal of the West River. Lois had opened the interview by asking what had prompted Ms. Merlo to get so heavily involved with the project.

She had expected the usual self-serving dribble about being a public figure and doing good for the community and fixing a blight on the city. The same sort of egotistical commentary that Luthor expounded on a regular basis that tried desperately to speak to people on a personal level and left them feeling vaguely like that they had been poked in the buttcrack.

Instead, Ms. Merlo had given the bizarrely chirping reply: "I'm a good girl who just wants to help." She used a bright, peppy tone that had been hooked up to an IV of sugar and Red Bull.

And it didn't answer the question either.

Well, it _could_ have if you took it as the short answer, but interviews just didn't do short answers. They all but demanded long explanations that included personal thoughts on the matter and sometimes too much information. Short answers had to be explained if the interviewer expected to make the minimum word count.

But Ms. Merlo had decided to fuck that noise. Immediately following her "good girl" comment, she had gone into a monologue about growing up in a children's home run by a fanatically religious old woman. She had given Lois a dirty look when the reporter had tried to interrupt her so they could get back on topic.

Either Ms. Merlo was dancing around the answer like it was a May-pole or she truly believed her history in the children's home was relevant to the West River renewal project.

After today, Lois would finally be able to explain a more defined reason as to why she hated Deirdre Merlo.

This woman was a maddening dichotomy of extremes. She had a voice like phone sex and the mannerisms of a Lady of Society. Of someone who had been raised to be poised and elegant at all times and to **never** act like she wasn't being watched. Her smile was vapidly pleasant, but her movements were sensual. And while she spoke like a highly educated woman, she phrased her sentences the way a small child might and pitched her voice to sound like a little girl. Never mind the way her gestures constantly veered towards her crotch or her ample-sized bosom.

As the interview seemed to stretch into eternity and each second lasted a minute and the answers got more rambling and less relevant, Lois was able to conclude exactly what kind of image Ms. Merlo was projecting.

She was Barbie.

She was just a Barbie doll that the Board of Directors could dress up in nice clothes and they could give her a script. She was the porcelain marionette whose strings they tugged; the puppet CEO who signed her name on command and didn't properly know what documents she was signing. The public face of the company with her gorgeous looks, sexy voice, and charming charisma, but unfathomably useless.

Without a script, she had no idea what to say, so anything spewed out of her pie-hole.

And then there was the whole thing where her office looked like a mix between a private lounge and a classy sex room. It had taken Lois over half an hour to find the desk on the far side of the room, half-hidden behind a dressing screen, and the EA had never actually come back with her water.

It seemed to take forever, but it was with the greatest of relief that Lois finally reached the last question.

"So, what do you hope to bring to the West River? What sort of change are you really hoping to invoke?" she asked.

Ms. Merlo's eyes brightened. "Would you like to see my model?"

"Model?" Lois repeated.

The CEO all but flung herself off the couch, where she had been lounging comfortably for the last hour. The semi-wild movement barely disturbed her hair and her clothes were hardly wrinkled in the process. She got to her feet like she had floated up to a standing position.

"My model! Come and see it!" she ordered, beckoning to the reporter. "You'll love it! Everyone worked so hard on it! It's the best ever!"

She said that in exactly the same tone as a six-year old who made cell models out of toothpicks and gumdrops and half a glue stick. Reluctant for no reason she could properly pin down, Lois stood up and followed the CEO across the office.

"C'mon, c'mon." Ms. Merlo urged, waving an elegant hand. "It's over here. It's amazing. I could never do anything so intricate by myself."

There was an unlit alcove on the far side of the room, out of sight of the door. With a massive grin on her face, Ms. Merlo flicked up a light switch, shedding bright hot light over something Lois always thought she would find in an evil villain's hidden lair.

It was a scale model of the entire city. All of Metropolis laid out on a twelve by twelve platform. The tallest towers no more than three feet in height; the spire of the LexCorp building wasn't much past Lois's waist. The buildings were painted Styrofoam, the streets were rubber, and the cars were die-cast toys. The most prominent buildings in Metropolis's actual skyline were on display in all their glory. All twenty-three bridges were present, as well as the hydro-electric dam further up the river. Lois could pick out the individual neighborhoods. They were picture-accurate. Even Stryker's Island had been perfectly rendered.

Only two of the neighborhoods were different.

One of them was the West River Island, obviously, but it had been designed to resemble the completed renewal project. Fancy high-rise apartment buildings and office towers blanketed the landscape. A series of condominiums on the south shore and a beach resort on the far west side. New consumer-oriented businesses. A big green park complete with plastic trees and tiny plastic people graced the center of the island. It looked like an extension of New Troy.

The second was Metrodale. Gone were the rows of collapsing terraced houses that currently dominated the streets. Replacing them were identical suburban houses with green lawns and picket fences.

Actual picket fences.

In a scale model.

That was dedication.

 _Today, West River. Tomorrow, Metrodale._ Lois thought. _Well, you just wanna be the new Lex Luthor, don'tcha. He's been talking about Metrodale for the past year. I could appreciate the idea of you beating him at his own game -_ - _because it's high time someone did -_ _ **-**_ _I just don't think I want it to be you._

"What do you think?" Ms. Merlo asked.

"Of the model?" Lois asked.

"No, of the plan." the CEO corrected. She did not hide her eye-roll. "This is the final product! It'll be the result of two years worth of construction! By this time in 2010, everyone will have homes and jobs and dinner every night and no one will be poor! All poverty in Metropolis will be wiped out!"

"That's not going to happen." Lois predicted. Idealized thinking, that.

A vague scowl marred Ms. Merlo's perky grin. "What makes you say that? Are you doubting what my contribution can do?"

"Yep, I am." Lois nodded, crossing her arms. "See, no matter what you do, there's always going to be poverty in one form or another. Even if the new average is to make nineteen thousand a year, that's only an average. There's still going to be people who are only making ten thousand a year and in comparison, they're still going to be poor. Because cost of living is going to rise and there's always going to be someone who can't quite reach it. That's life. It always screws you over."

"Don't be silly, Miss Lane. When the West River is rebuilt, there will be no such thing as a poor person or crime. Everyone will be happy and they'll all have jobs and everything will be alright!" Ms. Merlo declared in a tittery voice, like the school girl who had just spotted the vaguely handsome older boy.

"And how exactly do you plan to do that? Are you even thinking about the actual reality of what you're proposing?" Lois asked. "It's an admirable thing to aim for, but you're also saying that this is going to happen within the next two years."

"Of course it will!" Ms. Merlo chirped. "I'm going to show everyone what happens when cooperation and unity is the driving force behind society!"

 _Oh my god she ate a four-year old girl who's trying desperately to communicate with the outside world._ Lois cringed. This was a grown woman with a rose-colored world view who couldn't see the damn chainsaws in the forest.

It wasn't that humanity couldn't band together and cooperate, but it usually took a crisis to make that happen. Times when survival was imperative and strength was found in numbers. Other than that, most people preferred to think that no one else's lives affected them. That it was all Somebody Else's Problem.

Ms. Merlo was suggesting that she could make an entire city unite under a single banner just by fixing up the West River and Metrodale, and expecting it to happen over the course of just two years.

 _Or she's a robot being remotely controlled by a four-year old girl. That would make sense too._

Ms. Merlo snapped her fingers and smiled secretively. "I know what you're thinking." she said. "You're wondering how I could possibly make something like that happen."

Lois snorted. "You read my mind." she said sarcastically. "Go on, tell me. I'm _dying_ to hear it."

"It's actually very simple, once everyone understands what they're supposed to do." the CEO began. "If you could just answer one little question for me, Miss Lane. Are you seeing anyone?"

"No!" Lois half-shouted. She rubbed her forehead. "Ms. Merlo, that question has nothing to do with the West River and my dating life shouldn't even be an issue. If you don't mind, I really should be getting back to the _Planet_."

"So you're not seeing anyone." Ms. Merlo said. She shook her head and tutted disapprovingly. "A woman _your_ age should have been married at least a year ago. But that's not a surprise. You're not eligible to be anyone's wife."

Lois had barely turned around to leave when the CEO said that. A low fire burned in her chest, at the implication that her life needed a man and a marriage in order to be complete.

She had never bought into the idea; it was dribble to her. If other women wanted to be married, that was fine, but they didn't need to be dragging her into it. She didn't measure her worth against the men in her life (or else the numbers might come out pretty low, considering what she thought of the men in her life were worth and there weren't enough Clark Kents to even the scale).

"Excuse me?"

"You're loud. Strident. Argumentive." Ms. Merlo told her, clearly oblivious to the expression of outrage on the younger woman's face. "No man is going to want you, if you keep up with that horrible behavior. Which is a shame, because you're very pretty too and you'd make a fine mother." she added, like it was supposed to be a compliment.

"Men like women who are quiet, with a melodious voice. They don't like women who argue with them or question them. Men always know what's best. That's their job. A woman's job is to make the house a safe haven for the husband and cater to him when he comes home from a long hard day at work. The home should be quiet and free of distractions and dinner should be ready to go on the table by the time he gets home. The woman is to listen to the man and comfort him."

"And this has what to do with unifying Metropolis?" Lois prompted. It sounded like nothing more than 1950s housewife rhetoric that the feminism wave of the sixties and seventies had sought to wipe out.

Coming from a successful businesswoman of the twenty-first century.

 _She's the fucking Barbie doll. She has to be._

"Roles, Miss Lane. Everyone's going to know their place, their lot in life. Their role." Ms. Merlo explained cheerfully. "A system only works when everyone knows what they're doing and how they're supposed to do it. Cogs in the machine. Well-oiled, spinning smoothly, and brightly polished. That's the American way."

 _I don't think she has any idea what comes out of her mouth._ Lois thought. A sense dread sank into the pit of her stomach. _She just takes words and phrases that sound nice and strings them together._

"Do you understand my vision, Miss Lane?" Ms. Merlo inquired hopefully. "I wanted to explain it to you first. I admire your articles and your words. I thought your words could explain my vision better than I ever could. I have such great plans for Metropolis, but I need your words to help me give them power."

 _If only I could figure out what you were trying to tell me in all that rambling. I mean, what does a pet dog have to do with fixing up one of the city's worst areas?_ Lois wondered. _Unless you were trying to refer to some idealized version of childhood or something that everyone deserves..._

"I'll do my best, Ms. Merlo, but I can't promise anything." the reporter said. If anything, she was going to shove this steaming heap of poo down to some cub reporter who needed a break and didn't care what the assignment was.

Ms. Merlo nodded. "Of course." she said, taking the other woman's hand gratefully. "It really was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Lane. You're such a good listener."

 _I deserve a raise for putting up with your nonsense._ Lois thought, hoping her smile at least looked half-real. "Maybe we can do another interview." she said. _But only when Lombarde goes an entire day without mentioning anything relating to sex or his manly physique._

"That would be lovely." Ms. Merlo cooed. She smiled sweetly. "The chopper's waiting to take you back to the _Planet_. I hope to see the interview very soon."

"It might even be on the front page." Lois said, though she sincerely doubted that.

At long last, she was released from the clutches of the insipid CEO and her ridiculous little girl voice and the creepy sex brothel interior decoration mood lighting and the street-corner-hooker-clad executive assistant who made no effort to hide a sneer as Lois rushed to the elevator as fast as she could without looking rude.

The chopper was waiting on the landing pad ten floors down, as promised, and the pilot didn't need long to start up. A quick check of the instruments and then they were in the air.

Any other time, Lois might have been staring out the windows, watching the city unfurl beneath her. It was a sight she didn't get to see very often and she usually enjoyed it every chance she got. Instead, she stared at the completed interview recorded into her phone. It was over an hour of rambling, as Ms. Merlo vaguely touched on a real answer and then toddled off into a tangent that had nothing to do with Metropolis, much less its current problems.

As such, Lois had learned far too much about the woman than she had ever wanted to.

The children's home and its fanatically religious elderly woman headmistress had come up a few more times. She had talked about having a rough childhood in a bad city where the only love she ever got was from her beloved puppy that she'd been forced to euthanize herself when it had gotten very sick. She had gone on at length about the bullying from her school-mates and the abuse from her foster parents. She had spewed out so much that Lois was barely inclined to believe a word she was saying, for it had sounded completely unreal. Frankly, anyone who had suffered as much abuse as Ms. Merlo had claimed would never be in the mood to blurt it all out in an interview that was going in a national paper.

But if even half of that was true, then Deirdre Merlo was a very troubled woman.

 _I'll have to play this for Perry. He has to listen to the crap I put up with and then he'll see how batshit this woman really is._ Lois decided, tucking her phone into her bag. There was just no fucking way she was going to put this into writing. The _Daily Planet_ was a **respectable** newspaper, thank you very much.

 _Maybe I could sell it to the_ Whisperer _..._

The chopper jolted so hard Lois felt her stomach drop and her hands lurched to find a grip on the side of her seat as the motion threw her sideways. The pilot yanked just as hard on the steering yoke, trying to right the bird.

"What the hell was that?!" she demanded, looking at the pilot.

"Dunno, the read-outs look fine..." the pilot said, looking over the instruments. Everything was still green. "I did pre-flight checks. Everything was fine."

Above their heads, the blade rotor made a sound. It was a rusty sound of a motor running out of oil. The sound of an engine that was overheating and under-lubricated. It was the sound of a machine that was about to shuffle off the mortal coil.

"Something is not fine." Lois declared.

The pilot frowned. "Shit. I'm gonna set her down. Looks like it'll be LexCorp. Hang tight, ma'am." he said, picking up the radio handset to convey his intentions for an emergency landing.

"I smell something burning." Lois reported.

The console flashed a red warning light.

"It's overheating!" the pilot shouted. "LexCorp tower flight control, this is Future World One! We're experiencing mechanical failure! Repeat: mechanical failure! I think something's caught fire! Permission to perform an emergency landing!"

In that split second before the tower could reply, the chopper lurched like an upset stomach and Lois heard the engine cut out entirely; the wheezing throb just vanishing. The smell of burning became that much stronger and the nose of the chopper started to tilt forward and to the right. It was a strange split second that seemed to last far longer than it should have. Lois saw the city below with a surprising amount of clarity and she had the time to wonder what that moving red blur was not more than sixty feet below them.

The helicopter spasmed to the right when the blades tried to restart and before she could think of anything more, Lois slammed into the door with enough force to make her shoulder tingle.

But Murphy's Law wasn't done with her yet.

Apparently, the stars were in alignment to make this a shitty day.

She didn't have the time to grab the safety harness for emergencies like this and her seat belt stopped doing its job. So did the door latch. For a second, she had hoped the door would take her weight, but when her back slammed into it with all of her body weight, it simply gave way.

Then there was nothing but empty space beneath her.

 _Great, another Monday, another near-death experience._

She didn't have any time to build up momentum or adrenaline and she was barely clear of the chopper door before the air whooshed around her and something that felt an awful lot like abs, pectorals, and strongly muscled thighs were suddenly underneath her. A thick, corded arm clad in a very familiar royal blue came around her waist, the sleeve made up of some metallic-like fabric that she had felt before. She looked up and back at the bright blue eyes of Superman and his toothpaste-ad smile.

"Oh my god..." she groaned.

"You seem to be making a habit of out of this, Miss Lane." he commented lightly.

"I'm not trying to." Lois informed him, rubbing her forehead. "Mondays and Tuesdays are just not my friends. Thanks, though, your timing is really, really good."

"I have really good hearing."

"I'll bet."

 _This is getting ridiculous._ Lois thought, groaning again and covering her face with both hands. _This is the third time he's saved me from a death by splat, fourth time overall. I think I might have to buy him dinner. I mean, god, I'm practically sitting in his lap!_

She looked up to where Superman's other arm was stretched up above his head, balancing one of the chopper's landing struts in his palm. The pilot had managed to get his safety harness on, his face slack and he was staring straight ahead with that horrified disbelief of someone who didn't understand why he was still alive, but couldn't find it in himself to really think about it. Gray smoke poured out of the blade rotor.

Superman was holding the chopper above his head.

With one hand.

Lois didn't know how much the average commercial helicopter weighed, but they weren't light.

 _Flight, super-strength, immune to bullets, boy you are a package and I love it._

There was a sharp _*zzzt!*_ sound and Superman twitched and Lois saw his face change from that pleasant smile to something more like confusion and then she heard the buzz, zap, and hiss of electricity just half a second before he flung her off his legs, both safely into the air and not safely at all.

Lois didn't know why she had time to recognize the taser round embedded in the back of Superman's thigh, but not have the time to trace the trajectory of the second and third rounds that buried their prongs deep into the muscle and she wasn't even sure how they made it that deep because if you were invulnerable to bullets, didn't that extend to any other sort of piercing weapon?... Maybe because she was distracted when Superman bit down on his lip hard enough to draw blood that was as red as any human's.

Maybe she was entirely too distracted by the scream that burst out of him or the way his body convulsed in pain and the fact that he dropped the chopper in the process. And she remembered that electricity had had an effect on the good Dr. Essex, and both he and Superman were apparently from the same part of the universe.

 _Hey look, another brush with death on a Monday morning. Second one today and not more than a minute apart._ Lois thought, the words flitting across her mind as she fully registered her new-found plummet.

With her luck today, she'd probably end up impaled on one of the city spires.

"I want weird flowers on my grave!" Lois shouted into the air, not sure who was listening and not satisfied that those would be her last words, but she didn't have the presence of mind or the time to think of something more poignant.

The breath was getting thin in her lungs and her vision was prickling black at the edges. Oh goddammit, she couldn't breathe! Or she just wasn't. Well... If she did get impaled, she would pass out before she felt it.

The last two things she saw was Superman convulsing against not three but six taser rounds, three more having gone into his shoulder, and then a narrow face with a foul grin swept into her rapidly diminishing vision.

Then it was darkness and vertigo and nothing else.

* * *

-0-


	36. Chapter 36

Holy crap it snowed last night

Okay, not gonna lie. I don't like chapter 35. I just don't know how to change it.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Six:

It was like waking up from one of those drowning dreams and realizing that you were instinctively holding your breath. The tightness in Lois's chest prompted her to draw in the deepest breath she could and it went all the way down to the bottom of her lungs.

 _I think... I think I'm alive..._

She tried to twitch her fingers and toes, slowly becoming aware of the cold concrete under one cheek and all down her right side and _what was that awful sensation in her wrist_?!

It was pain and there was nothing like it to wake Lois up faster.

She had not been asleep or dreaming or dead, she had passed out because she had stopped breathing for just long enough and some _goddamn motherfucker_ had decided to bind her wrists and ankles together and _I was falling what about Superman_ - _-_!

Her eyes flew out and a bony hand sealed over her mouth.

"Don't shout." ordered an unfamiliar man's voice. It was husky, like he smoked a pack of cigarettes a week. "Unless you want to know just how far your neck can twist."

Lois looked up and found two things above her. One of them was the raftered ceiling made of corrugated metal about thirty feet overhead that just screamed 'warehouse'. And the other was the man, though she was slightly hesitant to use that because he didn't even look that old. He was her age or thereabouts, so normally brown-haired and brown-eyed with no stand-out features it was like someone had taken the top-most common genetic occurrences in the human race and run them all through a blender to get this guy. He could have been an anthropomorphic personification of the word 'generic'.

He didn't look very healthy, though. The fingers pressed to Lois's face were so thin she thought they might snap just from pressing down too hard. She could feel the outline of the metacarpals in his palm and the large sleeves of his shirt didn't hide the bony wrists or prominent elbows. She felt like one light kick would break his ribs.

But he wasn't alone and his two companions looked to be in better health. One of them had sandy hair and a very pointy chin. The other one had dressed himself all in black and while Lois suspected that the hair was naturally black, he must have undergone a skin-bleaching treatment to look that paper-white pale.

 _Great, so I'm being held captive by Generic Boy, Pointy Chin, and Gloomy. I don't know if I should be feeling scared about this. Maybe annoyed? I'll go with annoyed._

"Don't break her neck. You're not supposed to." Pointy Chin said with a resigned air, like they had had this conversation a few times already.

"Well, I just don't see why we can't kill her and be done with it." Generic Boy complained huffily, sounding quite a lot like an impatient teenager.

"Because orders." Pointy Chin said insistently. "Now look, we'll hold her down, you break her legs."

 _My legs? Aw hell no! I still need them!_

Lois opened her mouth and bit hard on the first finger that slid between her teeth. Generic Boy yelped and yanked his hand away before she could really open her jaw, her teeth tearing open the skin of his finger.

"You little shit!" he yelled, staring at his finger like her bite was poisonous.

Lois grinned. "I try."

"Get her!" Gloomy shouted with more volume and pep that she would have figured.

They dive-bombed her, though it wasn't much a fight to begin with. Despite what she might have boasted, Lois couldn't take on three guys with her hands tied behind her back. At least not with her ankles tied too. Lying on the floor and wiggling like a worm didn't get her very far. Within seconds, Gloomy and Pointy Chin had her pinned down at the shoulders and knees, both grinning a touch sadistically.

She squirmed a little, trying to find some weakness in their grip, but they were _strong_. Their hands were borderline crushing. And she felt a bit of fear pool in her stomach. They were going to break her legs and there would literally be no walking away from this.

She might actually die here.

Probably from dehydration, which was three days too slow.

 _I think I rather would have fallen._

Before the fear could really set in, she caught a flicker of movement on the far side of the warehouse. The place looked like it had been abandoned quickly, so there was still hulking rusted hunks of fork-lifts and other pallet movers (which also gave her the impression she was somewhere along the waterfront and going by the state of the dilapidation, she was leaning towards the Slums). Even as she stared past Generic Boy's knees, she saw a rather hefty-looking boy wearing a newsboy cap dart out from behind the one fork-lift and dive behind the next one over. He poked his head back out and made a gesture with his hands, whirling his index fingers around the other like he was telling her to keep rolling.

 _Stall for time._

 _Well, rescued by a child is better than no rescue at all._

"Let me guess. This is the first time any one of you have even touched a woman." Lois grumbled, making sure that she looked bored with the proceedings.

"Ah, shut up." Gloomy mumbled.

"Bitch, I have a girlfriend!" Generic Boy retaliated, his tone wounded. It sounded like he had to say this a lot.

"Really? Is she impressed by cheap Matrix cosplay?" Lois asked. She scanned him up and down. "Are you wearing woman's boots? Those look like woman's boots. Do you borrow your girlfriend's clothes? Are you wearing her panties _-_ -"

"Shut up!" Generic Boy barked, though his comrades giggled a little. "You two shut up too and hold her down!"

"Gosh, you're not even going to give me a fighting chance. Where's the sport in that?" Lois lamented, a little dramatically. The hefty boy was climbing an old ladder up the back wall, heading for the rafters. "I think if I have to lay here and put up with your bullshit, I should at least get the chance to cold-cock one of you."

"This is your last warning!" Generic Boy shouted.

"Warning-schmorning, you losers wouldn't have caught me if I hadn't been a thousand feet up and falling." Lois growled. This time, hot anger banished the cold fear and she glared piercingly at Pointy Chin. "Don't think for a second I don't recognize your face. _What did you do with Superman_?!" she bellowed.

Admittedly, it had taken a moment for the recognition to set in, like a low simmer, but her mind had put the pieces together. Pointy Chin had been the grinning face above her while she'd blacked out. Gloomy and Generic Boy had likely been in the area, perhaps shooting the taser rounds.

And working under someone else's orders on top of that.

Someone trying to bring down Superman before he could make anything of himself.

Lieutenant Sawyer's observation relayed to her through Colletta via email, along with the proposal to out-shout the likes of Lex Luthor and Dierdre Merlo. There were plenty of criminal scum out there who had benefitted from the lack of superheroes and would continue to benefit if Superman was cut down before he ever started.

Some people would do anything to maintain the status quo.

"That won't be any of your concern in a few minutes!" Pointy Chin declared. He looked at Generic Boy. "Now do it."

"Still, why her legs?" Gloomy wondered. "I'm not disputing the orders _-_ -!" he added quickly at Pointy Chin's rising glare. "But wouldn't it be more debilitating to break her ribs instead?"

Lois glanced at the rafters where the hefty boy had disappeared and wondered if any of the Three Stooges were actually hearing the faint rattle of chains.

"Nah, you can still walk with broken ribs." Generic Boy said. He popped his knuckles and winced. "I mean it hurts like hell, but you can still do it." He wiggled his fingers and smiled nastily. "So Miss Lane, any last words before the screaming begins?"

"Look out." Lois said flatly.

Generic Boy had just enough time to go "wha?", his face twisting into a comical expression of confusion, before a heavy cargo hook smacked off the back of his skull. A normal person might have gotten their brains splashed across the floor, but he obviously wasn't a normal person. The impact made him bowl over, yelping loudly, but didn't leave so much as a dent in his skull.

Then the rescue attack started in earnest. The hefty boy wasn't unaccompanied. As soon as Generic Boy was knocked over by the hook, another young boy of about the same age came racing out of hiding with a cackle. Racing, because he was clipping along at a good forty miles an hour in his sneakers. He took out Pointy Chin and Gloomy in run-by punches, fast enough that the pair of them didn't seem terribly sure what had hit them.

"We're under attack!" Gloomy yelped, flailing after whatever had hit him, but the kid had already scrammed off into the darkness.

"I got it!" Pointy Chin said, getting to his feet and raising a clenched fist.

"Noyadon't!"

And the boy came zooming out of the shadows again with a manic grin on his face. He didn't look more than eleven years old and probably just a hundred pounds soaking wet, but even when something that small was moving at forty miles an hour, it hurt to get rammed in the gut. Which was precisely what the boy did, hitting Pointy Chin shoulders-first.

Generic Boy started to pick himself up, groaning. Another cargo hook came swinging out of the rafters and clocked him square in the back this time and he fell right back down.

Four sets of small hands seized Lois around the arms and shoulders, hauling her out of the line of fire while speedy kid came back around for round three. She looked back at them. Three of them were boys and the fourth was a girl (one white boy, one black boy, one Hispanic with glasses, and the girl was Asian), but they were wearing newsboy caps and looked like rough-and-tumble street kids from the nineteen-twenties; the ones who smoked a bit and made petty trouble for the police but were more like the loveable ruffian underdogs.

"Afternoon, Miss Lane!" the white boy said with a jaunty smile, like they had just met outside the corner store.

"No time for pleasantries! Cut the ropes!" Lois ordered, eager to make a run for it on her own two feet.

The girl complied, producing a pocket knife that she used to saw through the ropes holding the reporter's ankles together. Lois didn't wait for the girl to cut off the ropes at her wrists, but bolted to her feet and ran for the entrance on the ride-side wall.

The hefty kid up in the rafters was throwing cargo hooks in earnest and the speedy kid was having a ball knocking Pointy Chin and Gloomy off their feet as soon as they got back up. The kidnappers did appear to be quite durable, though.

 _Metas._ Lois thought, if a little disparagingly. _One shows up and then they all come pouring out of the wood-work. How do I even get into situations that start out like this?_

She was out the door in record time and back in the gloomy Monday morning hanging over Metropolis and skidded to a halt. The prominent skyscrapers of New Troy were off to her left, the water and St. Martin's Island on her right, and ahead she could make out the tower of the Bronze Bridge. Definitely the Slums then, not that she was sure of where to go from here.

"Hang on, lemme get your wrists loose!" the girl with the pocket knife shouted, coming up behind Lois to cut the ropes way. They were off in a matter of seconds.

"C'mon, this way!" shouted the jaunty white boy from earlier, beckoning to her. He was the tallest of the four of them and probably the oldest.

"What about the Three Stooges?" Lois wondered, glancing over her shoulder. Pointy Chin, Generic Boy, Gloomy were going to get their wits about them eventually.

"No worries!" piped up the black boy, grinning widely. "Famous'll whammy 'em so hard they'll be walking in circles for the next fifteen minutes!"

"They won't catch us either! Not with my luck!" the white boy added confidently. He made a c'mon gesture with his whole arm. "This way! Scrapper and Gabby'll get away just fine! Let's go!"

 _No point in sticking around here._ Lois thought, breaking into a run. _Y'know what. I think I just got saved by a gang of meta-kids. Speed, strength... Cargo hooks aren't lightweight... And the whamminess._

The jaunty white boy was fairly fast for someone with such short legs, but Lois kept pace with him easily enough. The other three kids changed sides every couple of steps, heads swiveling this way and that as though making sure no one was following them.

A few blocks away from the warehouse, Lois looked up into the thick gray cloud cover across the expanse of New Troy, half hoping to see something red and blue, but all she saw was thin plume of smoke that she strongly suspected was the helicopter.

"He's not there!" The glasses-kid pressed a hand into her back to make sure she didn't slow down. "They pulled him out of the sky half an hour ago!"

"Who did?!" Lois demanded.

"Someone! We didn't really see!" the girl shrugged.

"Don't talk about it out here!" the white boy ordered, stopping long enough to peer down the next street. Seeing no one, he led the way to the next block and then down a narrow alley that, in better weather, probably wouldn't have been so dim. The buildings on either side had boarded-over windows up to the fifth floor.

"The stairs. Go up 'em." the black boy said, in more of a whispery tone.

"And go where?" Lois asked.

"Just come on!" the jaunty white boy said impatiently. He was a pulling down a fire escape ladder so they could each it. "Do you wanna know what's going on and why those metas were going to break your legs and leave you to die?"

"Honestly, it's not exactly a new situation for me, but the metas?... Yeah, that's a little newer." Lois admitted. "But seriously. Go where?"

"I'll go first!" The girl darted forward and scrambled up the ladder loud enough to make the white boy grimace at the clangs. She reached the platform of the fire escape, grabbed one side of the boards covering the window and pushed it aside as easily as though it was on hinges. She looked down and grinned as if to say _'see, it's that easy'_.

"We aren't tricking you, Miss Lane. We actually came looking for you." the white boy said beseechingly. "But we can't talk about it out here on the street. You never can tell who's going to overhear."

"Uh, no..." Lois hesitated, crossing her arms. She wasn't going to go with them _just_ because they had rescued her from a potentially slow death, no matter what her curiosity had to say in the matter.

"Mr. Bibbowski said you didn't trust easily." the glasses-kid said in a matter of fact way. He nudged his glasses up. "And to be very honest, Miss Lane, we'd rather not knock you unconscious and drag you up the ladder."

"Yeah, that wouldn't end well for anyone." the black kid agreed.

"Well, I'd call Bibbo and get his opinion on you kids, but wouldn't you know it, my bag and everything in it are probably burning in helicopter fuel right now. That includes my phone!" Lois snapped. She felt a little prickly-eyed at the loss of her phone. Sure she could get it replaced and get the refund thanks to the warranty, but her entire life had been tied up in that phone.

Not to mention getting her I.D. re-issued, cancelling her debit and credit cards in case any did survive, and fuck, she was going to go purse-shopping again.

Well, now she did have a real good excuse to get the latest in digital recorders.

"We know something about Dr. Essex." the jaunty white kid cut in, making the reporter all but snap back around to face him. "We know something about the certain thing he got fired from S.T.A.R. Labs for."

 _Oh goddammit, Bibbo must have told them how to get my attention._ Lois grumbled internally, as her curiosity shredded her caution like it always did. She scratched her forehead. "Well, I didn't come this far for nothing. Let's go."

Jaunty white boy smiled and made an 'after you' gesture.

So she climbed the ladder and ducked through the window.

The inside of the building didn't match the outside one bit. When Lois crawled her way through the window, she found herself standing not in a shabby, dilapidated room that might have been an office once upon a time, but rather a studio apartment lit with solar lamps and furnished with decor from the early nineties and comic books as far back as the eighteen-nineties. It was heated, well-lit, and it looked like it might be a fine place to spend such a gloomy day.

"If this is your secret club-house, I will kill you." Lois said, half-glaring down at the white boy who had come in after her.

She and the other base kids had tried to have a secret club-house growing up, but the adults kept finding it and raiding it for funsies. So it never looked half as nice as this when they had to keep moving it around.

"Nah, it's more of a safe-house." the white boy shrugged modestly. "We don't come here very often, but there should be some canned ravioli in the cabinets, if you're hungry."

Lois's stomach chose that moment to betray her. Then again, if it was past noon like she was suspecting, then she hadn't eaten since breakfast which had been about six hours ago.

"Canned ravioli, then." The jaunty white boy said, grinning at her. "You can hover suspiciously over my shoulder while I put it in the microwave."

In the two and a half minutes it took for the ravioli to heat, the remainder of the kid-gang arrived. They were flushed and grinning madly at their success, swapping high-fives and talking excitedly like they were in the best form of their lives. The whole group rounded out to five boys and two girls of various ethnic backgrounds. The girl who wasn't Asian was a particularly familiar freckle-faced redhead whom Lois had seen just often enough to recognize.

"Aren't you Roberta Harper?" she asked, pointing to the girl with a spoon.

Some of the merriment sloughed off when they remembered Lois was in the room, eating ravioli.

"Call me 'Bobbi', with an I. Everyone does." Bobbi corrected, seeming to grin a little sheepishly like she had been caught lying. "Jim Harper's my uncle."

"Really? That's strange, because the last time I saw you, Harper introduced you as his baby sister." Lois commented in a would-be casual tone, but she didn't make eye contact and the undertone was a touch scalding.

That caused all seven children to flinch, looking more ashamed than startled. It was the sort of flinch from a person who had made that same goddamn mistake multiple times and kicked themselves over it.

"So which is it?" Lois wondered, her tone still casual. "Just know that from where I'm sitting, this whole business is awfully funny. One: it's a Monday. You kids should be in school right now. Compulsory education and all that. Two: why do a bunch of pre-pubescent kids have such a nice safe-house that they keep stocked with long-term foodstuffs? And that's without putting your apparent meta-abilities on the table."

She ate a few bites of ravioli and waited patiently for a response.

The jaunty white boy stepped to the front of the group. "It's actually a pretty long story, Miss Lane, and I'm sure you'd love to hear it, but it's too long to relay right now. I think we're on a time crunch." he said. "Suffice it to say for now, we are the Newsboys. I'm Tommy. That's Big Words _-_ -"

He pointed to the Hispanic kid with glasses.

"Gabby."

The speedy little Italian-looking boy.

"Scrapper."

The super-strong hefty boy, who looked a bit Irish.

"Flip."

The black kid, who grinned brightly and wiggled his ( _webbed!_ ) fingers

"And Suzi."

The Asian girl, who nodded a greeting.

"And you all know about me through Bibbo?" Lois asked.

She trusted Bibbo enough not to intentionally lead her astray. And these kids knew enough about her _through_ Bibbo that they were obviously in semi-regular contact. Bibbo didn't go to people who weren't on the level.

"And Jim." Bobbi added quickly, amid the nodding. "Jim sort of looks after all of us. I mean, we can't exactly live on our own and get by on delivering newspapers..."

"We're a little more than your average Slums kids, Miss Lane, but there's no time for the whole story." Tommy repeated, moving to sit down across from her. "We help keep an eye on things around here and we learned something about Dr. Essex that you'll want to hear."

Lois sat up a little. Anything new about Dr. Essex would be coming out of those two years he spent in Sofia's employ and as curious as she was about where Dr. Essex had actually come from, it was matched by wanting to know what he had been up to after S.T.A.R. Labs.

"Like what?"

"His secret lab."

Quickly as she could, Lois slurped down the rest of the ravioli and stood up.

"Show me." she ordered.

A few blocks away there was an old office building about five floors tall. Structural decay had taken down part of the fifth floor and something about the design suggested that it had had a sixth floor once upon a time. It was strange that the building was still there. Even in the Slums, collapsing buildings were brought down by the city. Many were left as empty lots until someone had the money and motivation to do something with them, but they didn't leave the structurally unsound ones to rot on top of neighborhood children.

But this one particular one was still there and Officer Harper strongly suspected that it might have been bought by one of Sofia's lieutenants. When the Newsboys had investigated it two hours ago, they found structural reinforcement in various forms and well-maintained locks on the doors, many of which had been replaced. In a city that was struggling to throw off the last of the Falcone roots, this was not much of a surprise. The mob was trying to maintain its stranglehold and that meant a lot of burrowing into places where they didn't need to be.

Except for the people who had gone missing in this area.

One person a week for six months, nearly all of them homeless men and women seeking refuge on the hollowed-out ground floor. Though they had stop taking refuge inside the building after the seventh person, when the police had realized it was the one thing that connected the missing. Nonetheless, people continued to vanish in a roughly three block radius.

When their bodies did turn up, they were neatly mutilated, as though someone had cut them open with a scalpel and then stitched them back together just enough to make sure their insides didn't slop out.

Officer Harper had done all the digging he could. The building had been passed through no less than three shell companies, the third of which was loosely tied to a suspected Gigante holding. That one was loosely tied to a known Gigante holding.

Between that and the bodies, Harper had concluded the building may have been used by Dr. Essex.

He had been hedging his bets, though. Without any chance to investigate, he'd only been able to guess.

"But _you're_ sure?" Lois asked now, following Tommy and Scrapper up the stairs of the building in question. So far, it did look like every abandoned building she had set foot inside, but the steel reinforcement on the stairs was less than two years old.

"Can't mistake what we saw, Miz Lane." Scrapper said, shaking his head. He had a scratchy voice tinted by the dockside accents. "It was definitely a lab. Science ain't my thing. I couldn't make heads or tails what he doin' in there. Hell, Big Words couldn't and he's the brain."

Lois frowned. "He's like twelve." she said reflexively, glancing back to the Hispanic boy behind her on the stairs. "Anyways, I don't think there's a man or woman on this planet who could figure out Dr. Essex's science. I have it from the horse's mouth that he's not from this neighborhood."

"Didn't think he was from Metropolis." Suzi muttered thoughtfully.

"Hmm, try somewhere past Pluto." Lois corrected.

"Pluto?" Flip repeated incredulously.

"Past it. Think, strange visitor from another planet."

"What?" was the general chorus of disbelief.

"He's a damn alien, that's what."

The kids behind her stared at her back in disbelief and then immediately fell to whispering between themselves. Ahead of them, Tommy and Scrapper shared dubious expressions and looked like they wanted to join in the whispering, but couldn't do so without putting Lois in the middle. After a second of communicating solely with their eyebrows, Tommy turned to look at Lois over his shoulder.

"Are you sure?"

Lois shrugged. "I doubt he was lying. Seemed pretty proud of it."

She was sure. Dr. Essex was an alien. Lois really hadn't tried to take the time to wrap her head all the way around it _-_ \- that would come later when she was forced to fully acknowledge the same thing of Superman.

"I don't expect you to believe me, but all the same, he had some choice words for what he thought about us members of the human race." she added. "Now pick up the pace. I wanna see this lab."

They arrived on the landing of the third floor. The hallway was just as dingy and dirty as the rest of the building that Lois had seen so far, but that was just the camouflage. She doubted that anyone looking for something valuable would bother getting all the way up to the third floor if all they saw was dirt and grime and used condoms. The third floor, where just off the landing there was a heavy metal door locked by a keypad.

And a set of distinctly handprint-shaped dents on one side where it had been forced open.

"Uh, that was me." Scrapper said, shrugging like he was a little ashamed of causing property damage.

"Super-strength, that's impressive." Lois commented, nudging the steel door open even further. It moved easily, like Scrapper had first ripped it off its tracks and then put it back in the frame.

"Eh, it's nothing great. I can't- I'm not _really_ strong." he said, sounding quite modest this time. He really wasn't that strong, truthfully. Way stronger than the average eleven-year old, but he couldn't stop a small car in the middle of the road.

"Beats having to fight with the keypad." Lois said, pushing the door open fully.

The science lab on the other side was the most blindingly white room Lois had seen. The walls, the floor, the counters and the cabinets and every single piece of equipment was white as to better see the stains. Glass cabinets of empty vials and jars and bottles. Everything was clean and neat and so orderly that Dr. Essex could probably see tampering in the two-degree shift of the top-most paper.

There were racks of chemicals that were labeled with their element symbols rather than names (and Lois had avoided the subject of chemistry as a whole). The papers were worse, because not only were they not written in English, they weren't in a single language that she could idly recognize.

"Wow... Wish I had my phone." Lois muttered, itching to take pictures. _Honestly, this is why I need a photographer with actual balls of steel. So when I do stupid things and lose my phone, I still have access to a camera._

She walked past another glass-fronted cabinet, this one bearing vials full of some semi-cloudy liquid that she doubled back for another look at. The cabinet was locked, but the rack was labeled with an actual name: _Hapalochlaena Caloraeger_.

That still told her pretty much nothing.

She hadn't taken Latin in college.

"Miss Lane, there's a laptop." Tommy spoke up.

Lois spun around to look at him and then followed the direction of his pointing finger. There was a desk in the far corner under the windows, more or less the epicenter of the ungodly organization. It was the only dark thing in the room, making the gray laptop stand out all the more.

"Ah, hello nurse. Come to momma."

The reporter slid into the desk chair and flipped the computer's lid to turn it on. While the rest of the Newsboys pawed through Dr. Essex's paperwork to see if there was anything written in English and Gabby watched the door, Tommy sidled up next to her.

"There'll be a password before it loads the desktop. But I can guess it." he said confidently and grinned at her skeptical eyebrows. "We're all metahumans if you hadn't guessed, Miss Lane. I can manipulate probablity." He shrugged. "Sort of. I have really, really, really good luck. If I was older, I'd be a lot more adept at it."

"Handy to win off scratch-cards." Lois muttered. She moved the chair to the side. "Okay, impress me."

When the password screen finally came up, that was precisely what happened. There might have been a bit of a glow to Tommy's eyes as he entered the password, clicked the login button, and stepped back to smile triumphantly as the next screen welcomed them.

"Wow. What was it?"

"A lot of random letters. I'll write it down for you _-_ -"

"Peoplearecominghide!" Gabby suddenly hissed, jerking back from the door. "Peopleonthestairsthey'recominghide!"

The other Newsboys scattered for cover, but Lois, having not had ninety years to grow accustomed to Gabby's motor-mouth, hadn't caught a single individual word.

"People on the stairs, hide!" Tommy repeated for her benefit and immediately started to wedge himself under the desk.

 _There goes my hiding spot_. Lois thought, rolling her eyes. She unplugged the laptop's power cord, snapped the lid closed, and snatched it up off the desk. She went straight for the cupboard under the nearby sink, finding it mercifully empty, if a bit smaller than she would have liked. She folded her legs up to fit and closed the cupboard door as much as she could, shutting herself in the dark.

 _It is a good thing I am neither claustrophobic or afraid of the dark, or this would be a living nightmare._ Lois thought, holding the laptop to her chest. With any luck, the new arrivals wouldn't think anything of it being absent.

Muffled, she heard the door slide open, accompanied by a surprised exclamation that didn't sound like English at all. As the newcomers (two of them, judging from the number of footsteps) made their way into the lab, the not-English language became more recognizable as Italian.

Which she didn't speak.

 _Dammit, why is Clark in Hamstead when I need him?_ Lois thought, a tad frustratedlypiece of workears to believe me.

Not that Clark would come even if she had the phone and the balls to call him _-_ \- Well, he might come. Clark was the kind of nice guy who rescued people in peril, tried to be a bit of a stupid hero.

It was just that Lois didn't have the phone or the balls to call him.

There was the sound of a key in a lock and then the rattle of glassware. There was a sound of something thudding on the countertop and a click like suitcase latches. Lois got the impression that the men were loading vials into the case for transport.

It wasn't exactly a tense, heart-thumping moment during which Lois feared she would be found. The men took all of two minutes to load all the vials in, admonishing each other every now and again when glass rattled too sharply. If anything, _they_ sounded more nervous than she felt. As far as she could tell, they didn't stop to look at anything else. They acted like they had orders to get in, get whatever they were after, and then get out. And they did. The suitcase latches snapped shut and they left.

Silence and stillness hung around the lab for another minute before someone let out a low whistle that must have been the all-clear signal, for the shuffling started almost immediately after. Lois open the cupboard door and unfolded her legs with a groan of relief; she had been in there just long enough to feel cramped. Tommy extracted himself from underneath the desk and the rest of the Newsboys started to filter into the reporter's line of sight.

"I hope one of you understands any Italian." Lois commented.

"I can!" Suzi thrust her hand in the air briefly. "But the dialect was weird. Probably an obscure, older, localized one that like only fifty people use, but I understood a little bit of it."

"What did they say?"

"Hmm... I caught something about a bomb? Maybe two bombs? They took the vials from that cabinet."

She pointed across the lab to the exact same glass-fronted cabinet that had held the vials of semi-cloudy liquid. All of them were gone now. And little sliver of suspicion slithered into Lois's brain, always so quick to put two and two together.

"Dirty bomb." she whispered. "Shit! Someone find a phone!"

"Here!" Bobbi thrust an old flip-phone at her. It was a dinosaur compared to what was on the market today, but it would do.

Lois shoved up the laptop lid, tapped the mouse-pad until it came out of standby, and immediately went into file hunting. Fortunately enough, Dr. Essex had not been the sort to label his files arbitrarily and he had them set to automatically organize by last file accessed. _'H. Caloraeger'_ was at the top of the list.

"Miss Lane?" Tommy prompted.

"Dirty bomb." Lois repeated, opening the phone to make her call. "Whatever they took, it's meant to be dispersed through the air. They disguise it as a bomb attack, cause panic and chaos, then we get a bunch of sick people on top it and everything's going to fray at the seams. Oh god, it's all coming together."

Everything that her dad and Sofia had tried to tap her for just a few weeks earlier. General Lane had talked about striking calamities and the ensuing disaster when "incompetant hands" failed to deal with the situation satisfactorily. It was an extreme measure to go to just to get Mayor Kovac out of office two years ahead of the next election, but when General Lane wanted to prove a point, he went big.

They were going to tear Metropolis down to bits and then rebuild it the way they needed it to be. And then they were going to ensure that Sofia Falcone Gigante gave it the full Gotham treatment. The city would be rebuilt to accommodate the chaos and corruption and they had wanted Lois on the inside to tell everyone that it was really all okay, this was for the best.

 _Fuck, who's got something in this? Is Ms. Merlo involved too? She talked a lot about uniting the city under a single banner and fuck me sideways if this isn't a way to do it._

Tommy looked terrified and then dragged the Newsboys off to the side for a private discussion.

The other end of the line picked up.

" _S.T.A.R. Labs front desk, how may I direct your call?_ " asked the bored-sounding receptionist.

"To Anthony Sullivan, robotics. Tell him it's Lois Lane."

" _One moment._ "

Lois busied herself in that moment to look over the file on and everything she saw scared her a little more. Then _-_ -

" _Miss Lane?_ " Dr. Sullivan's voice sounded in her ear, tentative and unsure.

"Yeah it's me."

" _Blessed Rao, you're alive! There's rumors going around that you might be dead! Half the city saw the chopper crash!_ "

"That doesn't surprise me. Listen, ask me questions later, I've got important things to ask you. The last thing Dr. Essex was working on before he got fired, the one involving the dead hobos. Do you know any details on that?" Lois asked.

" _Ah..._ " Caught off-guard by the change of subject, Dr. Sullivan needed a moment to change tracts. " _Probably not as much as you'd like. Frankly, I wasn't keen on asking. Why?_ "

"Because it looks like he was developing a very contagious virus." Lois answered, grimacing at the information in the file. "Looks like a nasty piece of work. Stage one is fever and a rash. Stage two is blue rings appearing on the skin. Stage three is a lot more pox-like _-_ -"

" _Vystrata! Voed sharjora dr'quat!_ " Dr. Sullivan exploded, so loud and viciously that she had to take the phone away from her ear. " _Zuen eignta ged! Zuen vystratayiq eignta ged!- Excuse me, I am so sorry. Pardon my language, Miss Lane. I really shouldn't be swearing like that._ "

Lois blinked. "That was swearing?"

" _Indeed._ " Dr. Sullivan sounded abominably cheerful for having been shouting bloody murder just a few seconds ago. " _But I know exactly what you're talking about now._ Hapalochlaena Caloraeger _, or Blue Ring Fever._ "

"Never heard of that."

" _You wouldn't have. Apparently it's only found in Kryptonian systems-_ -"

"What." Lois interrupted flatly.

" _He told me he was an alien. Took me two years to believe him._ " Dr. Sullivan half-explained, shrugging his way through the lie. " _From what I understand, Blue Ring Fever is highly contagious and easily transmitted. If it infects even one person, then the population of America will be decimated in a matter of weeks. Following a two week incubation period, I assume. He's obviously tweaked it for the human immune system, so he could have shortened the incubation period too..._ "

"Okay," Lois swallowed down her questions because this wasn't the time. "Then I should tell you that two of Sofia Gigante's men were just in here _-_ \- Dr. Essex's private lab, I mean. They just walked off with the entire supply of the stuff."

" _Shit._ "

"They're going to disperse it in a dirty bomb. Best guess."

" _Raise hell with the police._ "

"Now you're talking my language."

" _And see if there's anything about a vaccine. If even one person gets infected-_ "

"The human race is doomed, caught that the first time."

" _Go._ "

And with that, he hung up.

* * *

-0-


	37. Final Countdown

Since the holidays are coming upon us, I'm going on hiatus again until January 6th. I know I'm ending the year in the middle of endgame, but it's the holidays. Also, I really need to buckle down and finish Iris's arc in Story 4. I've been slacking bad on making signficant progress.

So have a good holiday season and I'll see you all in the new year.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Final Countdown

Lois didn't jump into action immediately. As much as she would have expected herself to, the truth was that she needed a minute to absorb what was going to go down at the heart of Metropolis if someone didn't do something fast.

Virus-infused dirty bombs and secret villain plots to turn Metropolis into a twin of Gotham.

 _I hope this isn't what my life is going to turn in to. I hope it goes back to normal after this._ Lois thought optimistically, but then her usual pessimism decided to intrude. _Nah, forget it. It's probably going to be permanently twisted. I mean, if Superman sticks around, things are going to get weird and this might not even be the worst of it. Get used to it, Lane._

 _And do the thing!_

Motivated by her own brand of cheerleading, Lois snapped the laptop shut and stood up. Both happened so loudly that the Newsboys looked back at her in slight alarm.

"All right kids, the end of human civilization is nigh." she announced.

"That doesn't sound good." Bobbi whispered.

"You're damn right it's not." Lois nodded. "The Gigante crime family has gotten their hands on a modified alien super-virus that they're going to unleash on the city via dirty bomb and I have no idea how long we have before someone actually does it."

"Shit." Scrapper said quietly, to the fervent agreement of his comrades.

"Exactly. And right now, we're the only people on this side of the line who know anything about it." Lois told them. She looked at the seven kids seriously. "You lot got me this far and quite honestly, I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. For now. Provided you're willing to give me the full story later."

"The price of working with Lois Lane, we're aware." Tommy nodded. Bibbo had warned them months ago that Lois would be able to smell the bigger story and she would try and extract it from them at a later date. "What should our next course of action be?"

"Raise hell with the police until they listen." Lois answered. "Apparently this virus, Blue Ring Fever, is incredibly contagious and could demolish the United States by the end of the year."

"Do the files have any information on a vaccine?" Big Words asked, impulsively reaching for his glasses to polish them, but he stopped the motion mid-way.

"Didn't look, but common sense tells me notes exist for one, if there's not already an existing batch." Lois shrugged. If her father, Sofia, and a few select others were going to establish some New Metropolis Order, then they would need to be able to survive the plague first. _Then_ dish the vaccine out to all those who hadn't been killed in the initial wave.

Play the hero, that was what they would do in order to gain control of the city.

"We may not get any warning. At best, they're probably going to frame it like a terrorist attack." she added. "So that would mean multiple bombs at strategic locations around the city..."

"The federal reserve." Suzi whispered thoughtfully. "Maybe the mint?"

"The copper vaults, for sure." Bobbi agreed. "Metropolis still has the largest supply of unrefined copper in the nation. They'd cripple the market."

"That would cause the stock market to go haywire." Big Words added. "Any government buildings could be considered fair game."

"Pedestrian areas too. They'd need civilian casualties to make it really look like a terrorist attack." Scrapper said.

"Miss Lane, I think you should go to the precinct." Tommy said, gesturing to the laptop. "James'll listen to you. He likes your honesty. He thinks you're the only reporter in this city with good sense."

"He's the only one thinking that." Lois commented, but still nodded approvingly. "What about you lot?"

"We've got our own network of contacts." he said. He tugged the brim of his newsboy cap and winked. "I'll look forward to adding you to the list, Miss Lane."

"Looking forward to hearing that long story of yours." Lois said sincerely. Whoever these kids, they weren't entirely normal. But that seemed to be the theme of the last few weeks. All normal until you had a second look.

They would have parted ways there, but they had to leave the same way they'd come in. Nonetheless, they had their immediate plans and they made their way back down to the stairs to the ground floor where they saw the first problem. Both of Gigante's men sprawled across the dirty concrete, bloody and unmoving. The case of the virus was absent.

"Oh no..." Lois murmured.

She sprinted down the last dozen steps, skipping the bottom two, and dashed across the floor with the Newsboys more or less on her heels. As she got closer and saw the full spread of the blood, it became apparent that one of the men was dead. The other was still breathing and struggling to stay conscious.

"A third party?" Tommy suggested, as Lois kneeled down to check the living one.

"Scares the hell out of me just to hear it, but yeah, probably." the reporter nodded. She pinched up an eyelid to peer at the blown pupil. The other one was a pinprick. "Okay, he's got a serious concussion and he needs to stay alive to confess what the hell happened." She waved the phone for someone to take it. "One of you needs to call 9-1-1 and stay with him."

"I'll do it." Flip offered, taking the phone. "They'd 'spect me to be skippin' school anyways."

"And the rest of us need to do what we said we'd do." Tommy made shooing motions to get them moving.

Bobbi raised her hand. "Does that mean warning the Dingbats _-_ -"

"Yes Bobbi, it means warning the Dingbats."

"Dammit."

"We'd better get moving. A third party might give us even less time." Lois said, getting back to her feet and dusting off her slacks. "Good luck, kids."

"You too, Miss Lane." was the gist of the reply as they properly parted ways. The Newsboys headed one way and Lois the other with a bit of prompting. She didn't know the Slums as well as she knew other parts of the city and it was a moment like this where she missed the map app on her phone.

 _Tweaked alien virus, Sophia Gigante wanted it, a third party stole it, and I need to tell Officer Harper all about it because I think he's the only one who's going to believe me off-hand._

 _Further on that note, there's rumors going around already that I might be dead, my dad is plotting to help destroy half the city or more, Superman is god knows where, and I just met a group of weird meta-kids. Wow, this has just been a great Monday!_

 _God I hate Mondays..._

All that going through her mind at once, Lois sprinted up the road as fast and as safely as her shoes let her, keeping a sharp eye out for any patches of ice and the inevitable pot-hole. Fortunately, the Slums was just not a big neighborhood and she made it to the police precinct before the cold air really started to rasp in her throat. She ran up the steps and let herself through the door.

Funding from taxes meant that the building was still in one piece, but the neglect showed in the crumbling plaster molding. There was an orange traffic cone sitting over a patch of floor that had been water-damaged well over two years ago. The desk bore a number of knife scars and patched bullet holes and there were enough stains on it to look like a Jackson Pollock painting. There was a flat-screen television mounted on the wall, playing the lunch-time news. It was the newest thing in the station, even despite the crack in the bottom right corner.

The sergeant at the front desk was half-asleep when she entered, but startled awake when the bells above the door jangled raucously.

"Wakey, wakey! It's the end times!" Lois shouted.

"M-Ms. Lane?" the sergeant peered at her uncertainly, probably thinking he was still dreaming.

"I know Officer Harper's on shift today. I need to talk to him." Lois said, marching up to the desk. "When I say this is important, I mean it's time-sensitive and making me sit in a chair is just going to end in disaster. And when I say 'time-sensitive', what I mean is that I don't actually know how much time we actually have, so buzz him right now or we are all going to die if the circumstances get out of our control. That is not a threat. This is information I'm trying to pass along so don't sit there staring at me."

"R-Right." The sergeant reached for the phone, obviously deciding she was not a figment of his imagination. "You'll have to _-_ \- to sign in..."

Lois was already doing that. She had set the laptop down and scribbling her name in the big book of visitors because Metropolis P.D. required a daily log of the people who had visited the station.

The sergeant had barely put the phone to his ear when the door to the bullpen opened and a slightly harried-looking Officer Harper rushed through it. He looked around the lobby for a second as though he didn't know what he expected to see, until his eyes landed on Lois.

"Ah, I got a call." he said, holding up his cell phone. He glanced at the desk sergeant and resumed his professional demeanor. "I can take this from here, Sergeant Lockett. I was informed she was coming."

He stood aside to gesture Lois through the door. The reporter grabbed the laptop off the desk and waggled the pen.

"I need to borrow this. I lost all my pens." she said.

The sergeant didn't put up a fuss, too busy sinking back into his previous lethargy to care.

"How are you not dead?" Harper asked as he led her through the bullpen.

"Apparently, they had orders to break my legs and let me die of dehydration, instead of significant full-body trauma." Lois explained. "Is it always like this around here?"

The bullpen was alarmingly sedate. There was no one there to report thefts or murders or to give statements and several of the officers were very clearly napping or watching porn. Most of the desks were empty, their occupants likely having gone on lunch break.

"Only on the quiet days." Harper grumbled, bothered by the lack of vigilance. He wished he'd been assigned to a more _vivacious_ precinct. "What did the kids find?"

"Dr. Essex's secret lab, as you probably suspected." Lois said, glad that they weren't bothering with pretense. She presented the laptop at him. "And an alien super-virus with the capacity to wipe out the human race, as you likely did not suspect."

Harper made a grim face. "Walter said it was stolen from the Italians just after they took it from the lab."

"Who?"

"Flip. The black kid with the webbed hands? He called me."

"Did he call that ambulance? Yeah, a third party came after the virus." Lois nodded. "Which is problem number one. I could tell you exactly who wanted the virus originally and why they were planning to use it because they _told_ me, but I haven't got a clue who the third party is."

"Well, who would benefit from practically destroying Metropolis?"

"Arguably, no one."

There were televisions located around the bullpen and all of them suddenly issued a loud blast of static. Every active computer did the same thing, the porn watchers reeling, especially those with headphones. Every screen went blank gray and displayed the words ' _signal lost_ '.

"Ah shit." Harper whispered. "Hijacked."

"Time's up." Lois said quietly.

The screens came back to life, but they didn't return to their original programming. The screens showed six people instead. They were back-lit by a bright light that effectively rendered them silhouettes. Half for theatrical effect, and half for concealing their identities. They were varied in size; at least two of them appeared to be women and one of the others was so broad in the shoulder region that Lois was willing to swear in front of a court that it was Mr. Herniated-Shoulders standing on the far left.

" _Greetings, Metropolis._ " said a mechanical voice, presumably from the person standing in the middle. " _I hope that this has been a good day for every one of you because it will be the last good day you ever have._ "

He (as Lois presumed) sounded incredibly smug. The disguised voice couldn't hide that emotion.

" _I won't waste time introducing ourselves; our names aren't very important. What is important,_ " the leader, no doubt, went on. " _Is the warning you never heeded. We tried to tell you the truth, but you just buried your head in the sand and swatted us down like house-flies. Now you're going to reap the reward of your folly._ "

Harper grabbed the laptop from Lois's hands and set it down on his desk so he could open it, to see exactly what the files held.

" _In another few minutes, the mayor's office should receive a contact number from us. Metropolis, once this broadcast ends, you will have one hour to surrender the Superman to our custody._ "the leader continued. There was the faintest rustle of paper. " _If the city has not done so before the end of the countdown, I can't even estimate the number of people who will suffer the consequences. But it's going to be very high and Metropolis will merely be the epicenter._ "

"Oh, those assholes!" Lois shouted, a combination of rage and fear rushing through her because _they were_...

Either this was part of Sofia's plan and her two delivery boys had been aware that they would not make it out of the building... Or it wasn't part of her plan and this lot was just piggy-backing on the plan which meant they must have been originally involved and were out there double-crossing a Falcone _-_ \- their balls must have been titanium-plated and bigger than Pluto, if that was the case.

Hands down, the mayor would agree to give them Superman. Mayor Kovacs had to think of the city's safety, even if that mean turning over the first super-hero in two decades. It wouldn't be the easy thing to do _-_ \- as it seemed likely that Superman was probably the best chance at finding all the bombs before they detonated _-_ \- but it was the only sure way to ensure Metropolis's safety.

Lois ran her fingers through her hair, her thoughts moving so fast they were a useless blur. This was definitely some terrorist shit, but what on earth did they want Superman for?

Didn't they already have him?

Because she could have sworn...

" _Use this time wisely, Metropolis._ " the leader warned smugly.

The TV screens went gray again.

"Countdown on." Lois whispered into the ensuing silence.

* * *

 _Holy shit... What was I drinking last night?_...

It was the first thought to cross Clark's mind as awareness staggered back in like it had been out partying all night. He felt like proper shit; his shoulder, thigh, and both wrists and ankles throbbing dully in time with his heartbeat. His head ached in a slow way and his mouth was cotton-dry.

 _Y'know... I've never actually tried to get drunk before..._

Clark tried to open his eyes, but the first glimpse of the bright lights made his head throb and he quickly squeezed his eyes shut. He felt a little nauseous and stuffy-headed and the world seemed to be a swimming a little all on its own.

He hadn't felt anything like this since... Oh, perhaps in two decades. He must have been three years old the one and only time he could recall getting sick; coming down with a head-cold that had left him stuffy and miserable for a few days. He remembered it well enough, because it was the only time he remembered ever feeling like that.

What he was feeling now was a lot like that, except it was a bit more pronounced.

And his wrists and ankles _burned_.

It was an itchy, burning sensation, like a poison ivy rash to go on top of a sunburn. It was tolerable, but unpleasant and he found that he just couldn't ignore it. He started to reach over to scratch at it _-_ -

And the arm he tried to lift didn't go anywhere at all.

Alarmed, Clark's eyes snapped open and he squinted through the uncomfortable glare until he saw what was keeping his arms down. He was laid out flat on a table, cuffed at the wrist and ankle. The cuffs didn't look like bog-standard material. Silvery though they were, they also bore a faint toxic-green hue.

Clark jerked on his arm again, expecting the cuff to break because everything else did, but it held surprisingly firm and steady. He tried his legs, trying to yank his ankles out of the cuffs, but they didn't even creak, let alone the table under him. Not even when he tried to push off and fly, to break the table by smashing down on it with all his strength, because there didn't seem to be any strength there for him to use. His muscles quivered uselessly and the spinal helix seemed to shiver. He barely lifted his shoulders off the slab, much less anything.

 _I'm stuck._

 _No, I'm trapped._

Panic skittered along under his ribs and Clark found himself trying not to freak out. He had never been trapped before. Not like this, not ever. Nothing had truly held him down and certainly not this easily.

There wasn't really anything on Earth that could bring him down. Even electricity only had a limited effect on him...

 _Electricity..._

The pricks in the back of his thigh and shoulder.

The burning sensation pouring in his skin.

 _No..._

And her eyes, dark blue and horrified as he'd thrown her.

 _No! Lois!_

He had thrown her aside so she wouldn't be electrocuted along with him, but there hadn't been anything there to catch her. He had dropped her and she had fallen to her death. There was nothing else that could have happened.

Despite that, Clark renewed his struggles to escape the impossible cuffs. He had to be sure! He had to be absolutely sure that he hadn't accidentally sent Lois to her death! He wouldn't be responsible for that!

But the cuffs stubbornly refused to crack and a sudden swell of nausea in his gut stopped his efforts on the spot. Clark's head thumped back onto the slab, his eyes started to burn in a tell-tale manner.

Lois wasn't dead.

She couldn't be. She couldn't die like that! That was no blaze of glory, no final stand for justice! It was an inglorious ending for such a brilliant a woman who had shone so brightly, whose time had been all too brief. She had only just started to shine.

Lois Lane was the very type of woman who'd take her enemies with her on the way down

 _What did I say to her? Didn't I ask her what would happen if I wasn't there to catch her?_ Clark thought despairingly. _I didn't even get the chance to try and apologize. Whatever we could have been, we never got the chance..._

He also didn't get the chance to mourn Lois's fate. With a pneumatic hiss, the door to the cell-like room he was in slid open and in marched two individuals. Clark recognized Sofia Gigante; he wouldn't have been able to mistake her for anyone else. She was smirking in a gentle manner, all the sharp edges relaxed and sated. She moved like she had won.

The second person was a man dressed in the stiff uniform and peaked cap of the U.S. Army. Four stars were pinned to each shoulder, displaying the rank of general. He had graying brown hair and a stress-lined face and his frown was more than just a little familiar. Clark scanned the front of the uniform, passing over the medal pins until he found the general's name-plate: Samuel Lane.

" _I don't know._ _ **Are**_ _you scared of General Sam Lane of the United States Army?"_ Lois voice taunted in his head.

 _Well, I can see where she gets her scowl from..._ Clark thought absently. _What does he want?_

"Good afternoon." General Lane said in a tone was cordial only because that was how he'd been taught to say it. "Those cuffs are designed to hold you, as I'm sure you've discovered by now. They are also electrified."

He held up a remote with just two buttons on it, one green, one red.

"I'm going to ask you several questions. For every question you refuse to answer or if you lie to me, I will administer a shock. Is that understood or do you require a demonstration?"

Clark grimaced. "No demonstration."

"Good." General Lane nodded. He still kept the remote in sight, a silent threat. "First question. Where is Dr. Essex?"

"Precise location? I don't know." Clark responded.

General Lane tapped the red button and a jolt of electricity tingled up Clark's arms from the cuffs, strong enough to make him yelp.

"I should re-phrase the question. What happened to Nam-Ek?"

Clark grimaced a little harder. The pretenses were down, or at least they had never been there, judging from Gigante's lack of reaction to the name 'Nam-Ek'. Clearly it had been no secret between them that Nam-Ek wasn't from Earth.

"He was opening a portal to another dimension. I pushed him in." Clark replied, deciding to leave the details sparse. If they wanted to know more, they could just ask.

General Lane's eyebrows popped briefly. "Is he coming back?"

"Not if I have any say in it."

The red button was tapped again and held down longer this time. The electricity spiraled all the way up to Clark's shoulders before it stopped, leaving him panting and burning along every nerve in his arms.

"Is he dead?" General Lane inquired.

"I don't know." Clark shook his head. "But he might not survive the reunion with his superior officers."

General Lane frowned and hit the red button again. Clark saw sparks around the cuffs just before the electricity darted all the way up his arms and into his shoulders, making his muscles seize and contract _hard_ , until he felt his bones creak. It was over before he lost the battle with not screaming.

"I'm not lying!" Clark shouted at the man through the left-over pain. "Don't zap me just because you don't like the answer!"

"I don't have the patience for you giving me the run-around." General Lane said, his tone cold. "What is your position in the ranks?"

Clark blinked. "What? What ranks?"

General Lane twisted his hand around so the cuffed alien could see how close his finger was to the red button. "I don't have the patience for the run-around." he repeated. "I know about the invasion force. And I know a diversion when I see one. You sent Nam-Ek back to the army under the guise of 'saving the city'. And while everyone lauds you as a hero, you continue acting as a listening post and feeding your commanders vital information. Are you spy or a sleeper agent?"

Clark would have laughed if he hadn't been in this situation right now, because he had never heard a more off-base conclusion in his life. But he **was** in this situation and General Lane only knew half the story. He thought it was the full story.

"Who gave you that idea?" Clark wondered.

"I believe you're acquainted with former Agent Trask." General Lane said. "He was a gung-ho idiot with foolish methods, but he wasn't a liar. Now the truth please. When is the invasion due to arrive?"

"There is no invasion." Clark told him.

The red button went down.

"Aaah!"

"The truth." General Lane said again.

"I'm the only one _-_ \- _Aaaagh! Stopstopstop! It's the truth!_ "

"No!" General Lane lifted his thumb from the red button. "There have been three of you. Nam-Ek, yourself, and the third who arrived in the spring of '99. Who was that?"

Clark giggled despite the tremors of pain shaking down his spine. They didn't have a clue about Dr. Sullivan; his grandfather was safe. No, instead they only knew about Krypto.

"That was my pet." he said, gasping a little.

"Your pet." General Lane repeated incredulously, his frown morphing into a more impressive scowl.

"My pet." Clark nodded, relieved that the trigger-happy general wasn't zapping him this time.

"What kind of pet?"

"A dog."

General Lane made a growling noise in the back of his throat.

"I'm serious. He's a bit more wolf-like, sort of like a Husky, but he's identical to any other sled-dog on this planet." Clark said. He kept it vague so the general would have no idea what to look for. No extraneous details.

"And for what reason would you send an alien canine to our planet?" General Lane asked.

"I was a year old and he was six months. We weighed about the same." Clark explained. It was almost no explanation at all to the general, but it was the truth. At the time Lara had completed the prototype shuttle, she had known they wouldn't have the time to grow a second larger shuttle for the entire family. And since six-month old Krypto had weighed just about the same as her eleven-month old child, she had placed the dog in the pod for proper readings. She had just expected the shuttle to come from its orbital trip.

She would have calibrated the second pod for double the weight.

"What are you talking about?" General Lane demanded. His frown was familiar and almost heart-breaking for Clark, because he knew he wouldn't see it again on a much nicer face.

"Nam-Ek left out parts of the story, didn't he." he said. "I swear on my life that I'm telling you the truth. That portal Nam-Ek opened leads into the Phantom Zone. It's a prison dimension. A super-max. There's an army in there, led by General Zod."

"What were they imprisoned for?" General Lane barked.

"An uprising. I don't know the details. It happened two years before I was born." Clark said. "Nam-Ek was one of Zod's soldiers. He was going to help Zod build a new empire here on Earth."

"Why?"

"Because Krypton is gone. It collapsed under its own weight and imploded. There was an energy crisis and they harvested so much the of core that it destabilized beyond recovery. There's no home for any of us to return to." Clark said. "My parents sacrificed their lives to send me here. If I'm anything, I'm a refugee." He leaned forward as much as the cuffs and his current position allowed. "I have a job, by the way. My taxes pay for your salary."

He didn't know why he threw that last bit in there, but maybe he was channeling Lois's spirit for the moment.

Fortunately, General Lane looked too thoughtful to have heard the last part. He glanced over at Gigante like he expected her to say something and then made a small dismissive noise before turning back to Clark.

"This army... They'd all have powers like yours?" he asked.

Clark shrugged. "I'd assume so." he said.

General Lane nodded. "In that case, we still need you." he said, putting the remote back in his pocket. "It's a hostile universe out there and your genetic structure will contribute to the defense of Planet Earth."

"What? No _-_ \- No, there is no invasion!" Clark said quickly, pulling off the cuffs again to no avail. "There isn't going to be an invasion! The army can't get out of the Phantom Zone!"

"Make yourself comfortable, Superman. General Eiling will be along within the hour." General Lane said casually, walking back to the door.

"General _-_ -!"

The door hissed open and General Lane walked through without looking over his shoulder. Sofia did, her smirk gaining sharper edges as she looked at the bound alien with a sort of smug superiority. Then she followed the general out into the corridor and the door hissed shut.

"Fascinating." she commented.

"Yes." General Lane agreed. "I have you to thank for delivering him."

He was tempted to ask how she had done it, because it could not have been easy. But long experience had taught him to keep that question to himself. _'Don't burden yourself with the secrets of scary people'_ she had said to him once.

"How did you know the cuffs would hold?" he asked instead.

"Secrets, General." Sofia replied, meaning it was not a line of questioning to pursue if he wanted plausible deniability. "Are you still intending to carry through the with the plan?"

General Lane shook his head. "We have a limited supply of the vaccine. To proceed now would mean an unacceptable number of casualties." he said. "No, I'm going to postpone the plan until we have manufactured the full supply."

"Ah, and I presume what you do have is safely locked away." Sofia said.

"Guarded, but no one is going to get at it down here." General Lane stated. As if anyone really knew where to find them. "The virus itself is _en route_ , I hope?"

"I assure you General, it is being prepped for delivery as we speak." Sofia replied, but she didn't look at him when she said that and General Lane felt his normally tight paranoia meter jump a little.

Sofia Gigante believed in direct and constant eye contact.

"Is everything all right?" he asked.

"The police have been watching a little more closely than I'm comfortable with, but it's nothing I can't deal with." Sofia said, this time making eye contact. "If you'll excuse me, I have phone calls to make. I'll inform you when the virus is at your door step."

General Lane nodded his understanding and took a left at the first corner, parting ways with Sofia as she continued straight ahead. The facility was a sterile white environment that had been a blasted fortune to build, but it served its purpose marvelously. Some aspects of the government needed secret, quiet places to conduct their research and experiments, and Project 7734 was one such aspect.

No one needed to know that Project M had survived long enough to be revived.

He produced his security pass and swiped it through the reader by the nearest door, then tapped his pass-code into the keypad. The red light turned green and the door slid open. Beyond it was a room that was half a laboratory and half a monitoring station, to keep an eye on the alien locked down in the secure cell. It was occupied only by six people and four of them were assistants whose number one job was to keep their heads down and their mouths shut unless called upon.

"Doctors, give me good news." he ordered of the two men in charge; Dr. Dabney Donovan and his long-time research partner, Dr. Reginald Augustine.

"Sorry General Lane, I don't think we have much to go on." Dr. Donovan said, shrugging sheepishly. He ran a hand over his wild black hair. "The process of extracting viable material from the Superman could be a lengthy one."

"And he might not be genetically different from humans." Dr. Augustine added, his eyes glued to a microscope. "This saliva sample doesn't look any different from mine. Even the skin scrapings we were able to obtain before the scalpel went dull don't look any different." He looked up from the microscope. "I'm sorry General Lane, but on the surface, Superman appears just as human as you or I. We'll need to go deeper."

"We need blood, tissue, cerebral fluid, spinal fluid, bone marrow. If we can take X-rays, CAT scans, even a sonogram... There must be some biological differences! He's an alien life form!" Dr. Donovan shouted, throwing his arms into the air frantically. "The applications for his genetics would go beyond military! Think about what we could do for illness! Muscular dystrophy could be a thing of the past! Congenital defects gone! He might hold the cure for AIDs! Maybe we could wipe out cancer in our lifetime!"

"If you ignore the wildly contagious virus sitting in his DNA strands that may or may not be active and compatible with humans." Dr. Augustine commented, being a little less frantic and fervent to explore the possibilities. He was excited for them, yes, but baby steps for goodness sake.

"What would you need to extract blood from him?" General Lane, reaching for a syringe that lay on the nearby table-top. It had been rendered useless, the needle bent at a fifty degree angle. Another needle had crumpled all the way up to the capsule.

Dr. Donovan sobered. "Well, as you can see, he's still as durable as ever, but-" He pointed to the monitor at his work-station, where the security feed showed the Superman in the cell. He was still pulling on his cuffs, but half-heartedly. "That green material in the cuffs. Whatever it is, it appears to be sapping his strength. I think we'll need a lot more of it if we expect to even get through his skin, much less all the way down to his bones."

"I'll talk to Ms. Gigante immediately. She wouldn't tell me where she acquired it, but I imagine she can obtain more on short notice." General Lane said. He patted Dr. Donovan heavily on the shoulder. "Do what you can for now and keep me posted about any improvements."

"Yessir, will do."

A lackluster update, and not much to hope for, General Lane knew. The green stuff worked like a charm on the Superman and it would be just the sort of thing Sofia would try and hold over his head in exchange for who knew what.

But he could make her see reason.

He marched down the white sterile corridors to the room where he knew he could find Sofia. She hadn't left the facility yet; there was a process to getting out and he was informed of everyone's arrivals and departures. That security feature assured that Mrs. Gigante couldn't sneak past under his nose. She was a vital component to fixing Metropolis, but that didn't mean General Lane trusted her implicitly.

She was up to something. She was always up to something.

" _You, big stern army man, by the book and everything, just shat on your own integrity by aligning yourself with a Falcone."_

General Lane frowned tightly at himself. Now was not the time to be allowing his daughter's words to come back to him. He knew what he was doing and this was for the best. It was the only way to stay on top of a changing world.

He arrived at the spare office he had lent to Sofia and entered without knocking - men of his rank didn't need to knock. And if he had knocked, he would have provided Sofia ample time to put away the syringe she was holding to her bare forearm.

Beside her on the desk was a small case holding seven vials of mostly clear liquid, quite clearly labeled ' _H. Caloraeger_ vaccine'. Sofia locked eyes with him, held her chin up, and depressed the plunger, injecting the vaccine into her system.

"You're double-crossing me." General Lane realized.

"I already have." Sofia corrected, gently sliding the needle out of her arm. "The virus **is** being delivered, but to the bomb sites across the city. Oh no, don't bother looking. I've already changed the locations."

"I postponed the plan for a reason." General Lane growled.

"And I'm advancing it." Sofia pressed a gauze patch over the injection site. "The Falcone family has worked for too long to allow even a man like you to disrupt our plans. Metropolis was always going to be mine, general."

General Lane jumped to the conclusion far faster than he oughta have, but he knew what Sofia had done to get a hold of the Superman. She had baited a trap and there was only one person in this city whom it seemed Superman would coming running to rescue.

He pulled his gun and clicked the safety off.

"What have you done with my daughter?" he demanded.

"What gives you the idea that I've done anything to her?" Sofia asked, but her tone was far from innocent or ignorant. "Sometimes the bait gets eaten, but you knew better than I did that Lois was never going to cooperate. Better to remove her from the equation now before she becomes a serious problem." The mafia queen shrugged. "It was probably painless."

His hand shook a little and the gun rattled. Lois was dead. Lois was dead because of this bitch in front of him. Lois was dead because of the alien down the hall. His oldest daughter, headstrong and stubborn and the apple of her mother's eye, was dead because of this entire goddamn plan.

It was an injustice and it wouldn't stand.

 _Right between the eyes. Put the bullet there and this bitch isn't getting back up._ He told himself.

Before he could shoot, the intercom squealed with feedback and then a man's voice started speaking. It belonged to no one in the facility; it had a hollow quality to it like it was coming from the outside. As though every radio and satellite signal in the city had been hijacked to ensure the message reached every corner.

But it was the way Sofia's face drained of color that told General Lane the most about the broadcast.

"Would that be your 'friend', Mrs. Gigante? Perhaps the individual from whom you acquired the green material?" the general asked a bit tauntingly, once it was over and the countdown had begun. "He seems quite daring, to wrench the plan away from you like that. How does it feel to be double-crossed just when you thought you had the upper hand?"

Sofia drew her gaze away from the intercom speaker and looked at him with a hard, steady glare, but with a smug toothy grin that showed all of her teeth. Things were still going her way even when they weren't.

"What have I got to worry about? I'm already immunized." she pointed out. "And the Superman is in your custody, not mine. The fate of Metropolis is now your sole responsibility."

Sofia rolled down her coat sleeve and couldn't resist throwing one last zinger at the man.

"Do your daughter proud."

* * *

-0-


	38. Chapter 38

I was totally going to have Iris's arc in Story 4 finished over Christmas but then I saw Rogue One twice in four days, binged Yuri on Ice, Carrie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds both died within 36 hours of each, and then I was very interested in watch 2016 go up in flames. I got distracted. You know how it goes. I didn't get as much written as I had intended. Chapter 24 is doing that thing where it sits there and makes faces at me, so I'm going to have to come at it from another angle.

If you look closely, you can start to see where I said "fuck it". I'll admit, this chapter and the next two start to collapse on themselves a little because I was getting down to the end and the only thing I wanted to do was finish the damn story. It's another one of those things where I really oughta do a heavy revision, but I also need to keep moving forward. There's still a lot of ahead to write.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Eight:

Far above the streets and spires of Metropolis was a sight that no one was bothered to notice because they were much too busy trying to high-tail it out of the city to notice the inconsequential things going on above their heads.

Krypto darted left and right, his nose going in and out of the breeze trying pick out the scent of his Alpha. It had always been a sharp scent to his nose, like wintergreen and pine and old, old dust that puppy-memories identified as the faded scents of Krypton. Humans smelled stranger. Not bad-strange, but they smelled more like the earth and sky around them and of a hardier, more pervasive scent like petrichor.

The problem this high up was that most scents didn't linger and the only Kryptonian-laden scent he was catching now was coming off of Dr. Sullivan, who had some yards away being tugged on by the breeze like he was a feather. His arms were crossed over his lab coat, trying to shut out the winter wind. He had come straight to get Krypto after hanging up on Lois, knowing he'd need the dog's nose more than anything else.

In retrospect, he certainly could have stopped to grab his coat.

Kryto growled in frustration and shook his head all the way down to the ruff.

"You're not getting anything?" Dr. Sullivan asked.

' _No! It's too windy! The trail's everywhere and nowhere!'_ Krypto growled again, darting back over to the older man's side. He wanted his ears scratched, but Dr. Sullivan kept his arms firmly crossed, his frown just this side of not-disappointed.

' _Scratch my ears.'_ Krypto whined.

"Don't give me that sad-puppy look; your species has a remarkable sense of smell. I can only imagine how much it's been enhanced under this sky." Dr. Sullivan said, looking across the city-scape. He could smell the vague scent of burnt helicopter fuel and scorched mechanical parts, though it was just barely lingering. There was doubtlessly so much more that the big canine could smell.

' _Alpha would scratch my ears.'_ Krypto huffed out a doggy sigh, leaning on the older man's leg.

"I know, I know." Dr. Sullivan agreed. He reached down absently and started petting the thick white fur. It wasn't a good scratching, but Krypto would take it. "I'm beginning to feel like a very terrible grandfather."

The sense of desperation starting to beat in Dr. Sullivan's chest was a maddening one, because it came on slow and inexorably and you didn't always know it was there until it had your lungs in a vice-clamp.

Clark was the only family he was sure that he had left. Maybe Zor-El and Allura and Kara were still out there among the stars, their ship following the signal from his beacon and they themselves sleeping away the months that passed. And the day would come when the Phantom Zone projector finally hit the recall frequency and Hayl-El would emerge from that wretched place at last.

But until such a time that both events occurred, Clark was all that was left of the House of El. As Steward of the House, it was Dr. Sullivan's job to keep him safe until Clark was willing to assume the mantle. Or perhaps Hayl would take it on. Being the first-born, it was his inherited right to become the next Patriarch of the House. Clark might not even want the job.

Even if there was no Krypton left, the Houses of El and Van would survive in their own ways.

But on a more personal, sphincter-clenching level, Dr. Sullivan couldn't bear the thought of finding his youngest grandson again only to lose him a second time in a span of six weeks or less.

He wouldn't be able to look the projections of Jor-El and Lara in the eye.

Dr. Sullivan let out a deeper sigh and looked down at the city below. And bit his lip thoughtfully.

Whoever had come after Clark wouldn't have taken him out of the city. They had worked quickly, efficiently. They must have had it all planned out in advance, which had made Lois nothing more than unwitting bait ( _thank Rao_ she was alive _-_ \- somehow _-_ \- he liked hearing good news). According to the great machine of social media, the kidnappers had gotten themselves out of sight very quickly.

Dr. Sullivan closed his eyes and imagined himself back on the ground, with a clear view of the sky between the LexCorp building and the Future World building. Social media seemed to agree that Clark _-_ \- Superman, rather _-_ \- had been taken back towards the Future World building while the chopper had fallen straight down.

"And past the Future World building..."

He opened his eyes and looked east. Past the Future World building was the Sundial Bridge. Then Hell's Gate Island. Then Lake Superior. Where Mr. Herniated Shoulders from last week had disappeared. Over the lake was where they had lost sight of him.

 _Look at that great big expanse of water. Rao only knows what you could hide in there! Go deep enough and it's so murky you can't see the bottom. It's a better hiding place than it looks._

"Krypto, I think we need to check under the water."

* * *

When civilization threatened to fall apart, the first instinct of people was not to start eating each other or rape their neighbors or otherwise turn on their fellow man. By and large, humans were pack animals. When a crisis came raining down on their heads, humanity's first instinct was to band together for mutual protection. That was the way they had survived way, way back in the day when the worst enemies were the sharp-toothed predators who prowled just outside the fire-light.

Only the worst of society whose first thought was self-preservation trampled other people in their haste to get away.

Unfortunately, there was nothing like a indistinct threat to bring out the worst in humanity, right down to their driving skills. Cars gridlocked the streets and people leaned on their horns as though that alone would help make space. There were fender benders at every intersection, people made better progress on foot, and really, it was amazing how quickly cars could go from being upright and intact to turned over and on fire.

There was virtually no cooperation or any semblance of working together. It was every man, woman, and child for themselves. The chips were down, the hand had failed, and these people were indeed about to eat each other.

"I _hate_ it when this happens!" Officer Harper growled. "I hate it when people break down like this! Just makes life that much harder!"

He was driving downtown, though 'driving' might be generously applying the term, given how much swerving he was actually doing to avoid the pile-ups and the people running wildly into the street.

"You're telling me." Lois muttered as the car jerked past some looters. "How does this even happen so quickly? They don't even know what the threat is and they're already tearing each other to shreds!"

"Experience, I suppose." Harper muttered. "And too long a history of megalomanical madmen building death rays. The Scare _did_ happen for quite a few reasons."

Lois went 'hmm' and nodded. It was never stated outright in any of the history texts what had actually caused it, but around the time of the Scare, there had just been too many super-powered criminals and not enough equally super-powered heroes to contain them all.

"Honestly, the only city I've never seen do anything like this is Gotham." Harper added. "I think they're just over-exposed. I saw someone trying and set off a bomb once in the middle of a public square. He even announced it and no one looked at him except for the one person who literally just hit him over the head with their shoe. Didn't faze a single person."

"I'd say it's because Gotham has never experienced a calamity, but then again, Gotham _is_ the calamity." Lois commented. She snapped her fingers. "I think I can get some light shed on this. Do you have a phone?"

Harper nodded down to his cup holders where his phone was jittering around. It was a Queen Consolidated Crown G1, not a model Lois would have preferred because she didn't like the user interface, but whatever. She picked it up, unlocked the screen, and set about punching in her father's phone number. He did carry a phone; he just didn't like using it.

"Who are you calling that knows anything?" Harper asked.

"The only man who knows what's going on." Lois answered vaguely, since it would become very obvious soon enough. She put the phone to one ear and plugged the other as the line buzzed with the artificial ringtone.

Her father was always quick to answer his phone when he deigned to use it.

" _General Lane_."

It wasn't the brisk, snappy delivery he usually uttered. Quite the opposite; her father sounded incredibly _exhausted_.

"Dad, what the fuck is going on?" Lois asked, foregoing the usual courtesy. There was no time for it.

She was met with a ringing silence in one ear that when one just long enough to make her wonder if the call had disconnected. Then she heard a shaky sort of chuckle of relief.

" _Lois... How on earth do you keep cheating Death?_ " General Lane asked slowly, his tone oozing surprise.

"Wish I knew the answer to that one, but not complaining." the reporter muttered. That explained her father's extended silence; he too must have been under the impression she had died. "Look, I'm not going to waste time explaining the details. I know about the bombs and the virus and your New Metropolis Order and if I had any idea where you are right now, I'd come kick your ass!"

" _I know._ " General Lane said. " _Lois, you're right. I've fucked up._ "

Lois blinked, her jaw working soundlessly for a second before she said: "Really? Gee, I couldn't tell."

" _I mean it. I've fucked it up. I should have known better than to ally myself with a Falcone._ " General Lane said, though it sounded like it pained him a bit to admit it. " _You were right all along. I should have known Sofia was going to double-cross me._ "

"Hang on." She covered the phone's microphone and leaned towards Harper to ask: "It's the twenty-seventh, right?"

"Yep."

"Right, I've got to mark this day for the future. My dad just admitted that he was actually wrong about something." Lois sniggered, the most triumphant laugh she would allow herself for the moment. Then she returned to the phone call. "Dad? Hate to break it to you, but I think there's a third party involved _-_ -"

" _Oh, I do know that. Sofia's just been double-crossed as well._ " General Lane sounded pleased about that. " _Where's the virus? Do you know who took it?_ "

"Not a clue. Didn't see them at all." Lois answered. "One of Sofia's delivery boys lived; he should be at the hospital by now, so I guess we'll have to see how much he remembers. Is Sofia talking?"

" _Would you expect her to?_ " General Lane asked rhetorically. He had locked her in the office and didn't intend to talk to her again until the MPs came to lead her away in handcuffs. " _I'm going to pin as much of this on her as I can, including an attempted murder charge. People know she's a danger and there's sufficient evidence to lead to a conviction. You're going to make me pay for this too._ "

"If I thought for a second it would stick." Lois grumbled, though wincing at the man's exhausted tone. Her dad would walk away from any charges with just a slap on the wrist because he was just too important to the military overall to be let go of. "I'm going to the cops right now, if we can get there without crashing. They need to know everything you know if we're going to save Metropolis. And you _will_ save it because both your daughters are still in it."

" _Are you playing the family card?_ " General Lane wondered.

"Yeah, and if you got a problem with that, fuck off." Lois spat, half in disdain, half in disgust at herself. She barely had any grounds to be playing that card herself, given how quickly she had split from their family dynamics at the first sign of trouble.

But if it was the only thing that would work...

Somewhere deep down, like an untapped reserve of resources, was the filial love. Lucy and Lois were all that Sam Lane had left of his wife in the world. He had sworn on Ella's death-bed that he would do right by their daughters and had failed to do so less than three hours after the funeral.

But if there was any time to start making up for past mistakes, _now_ was a place to start.

"I'll call you back when I get there." the reporter said, and ended the call before her father could say anything. She glanced over at the police officer. "Not a word about my dysfunctional family."

"Nothing to say." Harper commented, yanking the wheel sharply to get the car around the next corner. They were almost there. "I don't have parents. I was cloned from the genetic structure of nine different men."

Lois had an automatic response on the tip of her tongue that didn't fit what had just come out of the officer's mouth. Before she could question how one could be cloned from the genetic structure of nine men and before it truly sunk enough to be bewildering, Officer Harper spun the car in a bootlegger's turn that sent them rocketing in reverse over the snow-covered median and the sidewalk that separated the road from the parking lot of their destination. He worked the brakes and the gear shift in equal measures and without so much as a squeal of the tires, halted the car neatly in one of the parking spaces.

"We're here." he announced, twisting the ignition to 'off'.

"Where's here?" Lois asked, turning around to see for herself. The facade of the old courthouse reared up on the swell of the gentle hill. They had come to the Special Crimes Unit. "Why here?"

"Fewer regulations." Harper replied, getting out of the car.

And the SCU did dove-tail with internal security; running interference and providing back-up when it came to terrorist threats. This wasn't entirely outside of their jurisdiction.

Lois handed the phone back to Harper and kept the pilfered laptop under her arm as they dashed up the steps. Judging from all the cars in the lot, everyone was in today and that was good. Because she had a bone to pick with a certain detective.

They entered on what sounded like a heated argument, or at least a tense discussion occurring in very loud voices. All twelve members of the SCU were gathered in the middle of the rotunda, waving their arms and all but shouting at one another. Turpin had the loudest voice and Colletta had the most expressive arm-flailing and Officer Mills was piling on the sarcasm. Captain Jase pinched the bridge of his nose and Sergeant Kesel looked like she was about to literally throw the rule-book at the next person to look at her cross-eyed.

Lois didn't stop to hear what it was all about, but set the laptop down on the first desk she passed and shouldered her way into the group circle, closing in on Detective Jones faster than he could react. His head jerked around the moment he sighted her pushing in between Detective Marzan and Lyle, but he didn't move in time to avoid the fist that she threw at his face.

The blow connected to Detective Jones's jaw with a solid, satisfying ***thud*** and he staggered.

"That was for whammy-hammering me with your brain!" Lois bellowed.

Detective Jones wiggled his lower jaw to make sure it hadn't been disconnected. "Yes, I suppose I deserved that." he mumbled.

"You're damn right you did!" Lois snapped. "Law enforcement meta-humans aren't supposed to use their powers on civilians without express permission from their commanding officer!"

She had doubled-checked the archived rules, to make sure that Detective Jones really had trod all over one of the human rights edicts from the Department of Metahuman Affairs. Not greatly, given the altruistic intent, and there wasn't much she could do to properly penalize him for it since the legal structure was probably covered in five inches of dust and mice droppings by now, but she was going to make her point.

"Ahem!" Maggie coughed loudly and Lois became aware of the silence she had brought down over the room. All around her were surprised faces, wide eyes, and popped eyebrows. A dozen people waiting on an explanation on why she appeared to be back from the dead and most likely what she was talking about right now.

"Long story short, I'm not dead." she said.

"I think we figured that one out, Miss Lane." Turpin said. "But I haven't figured out why you decided to punch Jones in the face."

Lois shrugged. "If you don't know, it's not my thing to tell."

"Hold on!" Maggie put up a hand to forestall any commentary. "First thing: Lois, you're alive."

"Yes."

"How? Most of the city was tuned in when the news broke and the only conclusion they came to is that you fell despite not finding a body."

"Whoever wanted me dead wanted me to die slow. The plan was to break my legs and leave me in the Slums." Lois explained, putting her hands on her waist. "Turns out Superman isn't the only flying brick in the city."

There was a general growling noise from the assembled SCU overlaid by grumbled phrases like _"more of them?"_ and _"we don't even know how to deal with one..."_

"And John?" Maggie leaned a little to the right to look him in the eye. "Did she just accuse you of being a metahuman?"

Detective Jones pulled himself fully upright. "Yes, she did."

"And is this correct?" Maggie asked. "I'm not accusing you of wrong-doing and I don't think I will be angry _-_ -"

"You're not." Detective Jones interrupted. "You're confused because you thought you had me pegged and you don't like the possibility that I've been holding back something as important as meta-powers."

The lieutenant blinked, her mouth opening slowly in shock because _goddamn_ that was exactly what had been going through her head. Spot-on, word for word if she had to say so.

"No wonder you're damn good at fingering liars..." Captain Jase grinned like it was Christmas. "You're a goddamn mind-reader! Telepathy! You've got telepathy!"

"You don't read our thoughts, do you?" Colletta wondered, the voiced statement everyone recoil slightly with a sense of unease, staring at their comrade in a new light that none of them particularly liked.

"That is rude. It is be the equivalent of eavesdropping on a private conversation." Detective Jones with as much as a scandalized face as he ever wore. "The things you think about have nothing to do with me.

"But sometimes you shout."

There was a shift of nervous and ashamed discomfort as each person wondered what private thoughts the detective had accidentally overheard and if they were thinking too loudly now.

It did put new light on quite a few things that had been going through Maggie's head for a while now. Detective Jones had always been more than a human lie detector. He had always seemed to know when one of them was in trouble or if they needed to sit down and talk or just needed a hug. He could practically smell a bad mood from the doorway. He always knew which way the perps were going to move, giving him a stellar track record of bagging them at the scene of the crime. But it had been things she had chalked up to uncanny instincts.

Instead it was telepathy.

John Jones didn't just seem to _know_ what was going through people's heads.

He really _did_ know.

"Is there _-_ \- anything else we should be aware of?" Maggie asked tentatively. Any more powers, was what she was really asking.

Detective Jones nodded and raised his hand. With it, every coffee mug and pencil and organizer and stray piece of paper rose up off every desk around them. A twitch of his hand and everything drifted gently back down to the desk-tops, but neatly. The pencils lined up, the organizers were sent down straight, the mugs set back on the provided coasters, and the papers shuffled themselves back into order until everything was immaculate. Even the chairs pushed themselves in.

Lois blinked, her jaw hanging. There was something vaguely terrifying and very awe-inducing about such a blatant display of meta-powers. Such a thing hadn't been seen in twenty years.

 _I might be right. Superman has been causing metahumans to come out of the wood-work, like they think it's safe to emerge. I think it's all starting again. If the Superhero Effect kicks in next..._

"No." Turpin said, getting over his shock first. "That's cheating. You still have to straighten up by hand."

Someone tried to swallow a snigger so hastily they ended up coughing. That seemed to break the tension down to manageable levels and a round of giggles rippled through the group. Only Gordon didn't look as discomforted by the revelation that one of his new colleagues was a metahuman _-_ \- he hadn't been in the SCU long enough for it to really bother him. Instead, he looked thoughtful over the new information as if he was pondering how to make the best use of it.

"Historically, the D.E.O. has employed metahumans." he said. He glanced at the lieutenant. "And since we are an extension of the D.E.O..."

"Then there isn't a problem." Maggie agreed, nodding as if that was the end of the conversation. "Onto more pressing matters before we lose the time to figure it out. Miss Lane, how correct am I to assume that you know something?"

"Very correct." Lois nodded.

"That makes you the only one." Sergeant Escudero commented.

"Not true." Officer Harper strode forward into the circle with the laptop in one hand, making his presence more obvious at last. "The plan is to disperse an alien super-virus across the city and disguise it as a terrorist attack."

"And technically it is a terrorist attack, originally orchestrated by Sofia Gigante." Lois added.

Gordon raised a hand. "Originally?"

"She got double-crossed herself. Someone stole the virus right out from under her delivery boys." the reporter said. "The alien super-virus in question is called Hapa- Hapal... Blue Ring Fever."

" _Hapalochlaena Caloraeger_." Detective Jones said, picking the name out of her mind. "Incidentally, 'hapalochlaena' is the genus name for the blue ring octopus."

"It's also as deadly as the octopus." Lois went on. "It's incredibly contagious and once it's past the incubation period, we'll probably have lost half the city before the end of the year."

"How long is the incubation period?" Turpin asked.

"Hard to say." Harper admitted, handing the laptop off to Lyle who grabbed it eagerly. "We have an estimate of two weeks, but this virus is the same one that Dr. Essex claimed was in his own DNA."

"He's an alien, you know. He told me." Lois added.

"And he's an accomplished geneticist with advanced knowledge that goes well beyond what we know. He tweaked the virus to effect humans. He could have shortened the incubation period as well."

"Is there a vaccine?" Maggie asked.

"I'm sure one exists already, but not enough to inoculate the whole city." Lois answered dryly. "Lieutenant, this entire plan has been about ripping the system apart and letting Sofia Gigante rebuild it as she saw fit. It would have probably turned us into another Gotham. I know because Sofia wanted me on the inside when it all went down, so she kind of blathered the basics at me."

"Except the third party got their hands on the virus before she could make use of it." Harper said. "That doesn't mean the plan has changed. This third party must have already been aware of the plan, if they knew where and when to grab the virus."

"So they could be going through with it all the same." Turpin commented. "Place the virus at the bomb sites and detonate regardless of whether or not the terms are met. Someone wants to do Metropolis in."

"What happens next depends on whether or not they were intending to let Gigante have whatever's left of the city." Gordon added thoughtfully. "She's charismatic enough, a strong leader, and financially capable. If Mayor Kovac and the rest of the cabinet is killed and Gigante steps in to fill the void..."

"Hello Gotham two point oh." Detective Marzan grumbled. She shook her head sharply. "Nope, I was fucking born there. I lived there 'til I was seven and you don't wanna imagine the kind of grip Carmine Falcone has on the place. Gotham is the pits. That place is a dumpster heap. No one's gonna turn Metropolis into _that_ on my watch."

"It won't." Maggie said firmly. "We're going to stop it."

"But what about Superman?" Officer Mills wondered softly.

"I thought they already had him." Colletta whispered.

"We'll make do without him." Maggie said, looking at them reassuringly. "Lyle, holler if you find anything useful in there."

"Yes ma'am." Lyle nodded, his eyes glued to the file on the virus.

"Captain Jase, if you could run up to the big boys upstairs and give them some kind of update. Make it sound positive, like we're completely on top of the situation." Maggie instructed. No need to ruin their credibility. "See if you can convince them to evacuate the mayor's office."

"I'll do my best." Captain Jase nodded and fired off a respectful salute before he went to retrieve his coat.

"Miss Lane." Maggie turned back to her. "Exactly how much do you know?"

"The basics. Alien super-virus and some associated jazz." Lois replied, making a 'gimme' motion to Harper and he obligingly handed her his phone. "But I can hook you up with the man behind the curtain."

The lieutenant nodded in assent and Lois hit redial.

" _General Lane._ "

"You ready to spill your guts, pops?"

" _Put me on speaker._ "

He said it like an order. Lois knew that tone of voice. No doubts about it now; General Lane was ready to command the troops and own up to his mistakes. She placed the phone on speaker and put it on the desk.

"You're up." she said.

Maggie was momentarily alarmed to learn who she was talking to (and Colletta grimaced), between the individual being an army general and Lois's father. But she pushed through it quickly and got to business.

There were a little over a dozen locations where the bombs might have been planted. Sofia claimed to have switched them up, but it still needed investigating in case she hadn't. The list included three bridges, the copper vaults indeed, one hospital, most of the crucial government buildings, the _Daily Planet_ (why was that not surprising?), and the SCU building.

The SCU recoiled in horror at that news.

Maggie sucked in a gasp of air. "Us?"

" _It would seem so._ " General Lane said.

"Marzan, Mills, grab a radio and check the basement." Maggie ordered.

"But no one's been down there _-_ -" Officer Mills started to protest.

"Except for the furnace guy and possibly Trask. Go!"

"I'll go too." Harper offered, moving to follow the other two. He needed to do something that didn't include standing around feeling useless.

"The rest of you start contacting these locations or the closest one." Maggie ordered, handing the list to the nearest person. "Tell them to search their basements, attics, crawlspaces, whatever they've got. If they find explosives, tell them to guard it and don't let anyone get near it, and evacuate the buildings as a precaution. I don't think the bombs have been armed yet, so let's keep it that way."

The rest of the SCU scattered to their tasks.

"General Lane, is there anything else?" Maggie inquired.

" _I would like a private conversation with my daughter._ "

The lieutenant looked up at Lois as though asking if it was okay.

"It's fine." Lois replied, picking up the phone. She turned off the speaker and put the phone back to her ear. "What, Dad?"

" _I nearly shot Sofia in the head._ " General Lane said, much to her surprise but only because that was the last thing she had expected him to say. " _She used you to bait a trap for Superman and she knew precisely what would happen to you, so I almost shot her in the head._ "

"What stopped you?" Lois wondered. At the same time, she was absurdly touched that her dad's knee-jerk reaction was to shoot her would-be murderer in the head.

" _Someone has to take the blame. Or at least the brunt of it._ " General Lane replied. " _Otherwise, I would have done it without hesitation. You're my daughter, Lois._ "

And that was probably the closest he would ever get to saying _'I love you'_.

"Was the plan always to release the virus into the city?" Lois wondered.

" _Yes, but I had intended to wait until there was more of the vaccine available._ " General Lane said.

Lois rolled her eyes. "That doesn't make it any better, Dad. You were still planning to go through with killing a couple hundred thousand people." she snapped. "That virus wouldn't have stayed in Metropolis, not if it is as contagious as I was told. Two weeks from the first exposure before anyone starts showing symptoms. You know what that's just in time for? _Holiday travel_.

"Think about that one. Half of Metropolis fleeing the city for Christmas and New Year's, most of them asymptomatic and contagious as fuck, the rest of them showing distinct signs of illness. They'll spread it through airplanes, buses, trains, diners, restaurants, the shopping malls! It'll move down every line of travel and commerce! By January, maybe February, we could be looking at a global pandemic!

"And when I'm the one dying of Blue Ring Fever, I'll look back and think 'Well fuck you too, Dad'."

A steamy silence descended over the connection, both of them contemplating what the future might contain. Behind her, the radio beeped.

" _Lieutenant, we got something down here. Boiler room. It definitely looks like a bomb._ " Officer Mills's voice announced.

"Armed?"

" _Not in the slightest._ "

"Good. Stay down there and keep it that way."

"Dad." Lois started calmly, her voice a deadly quiet. "Where's Superman?"

" _Lois, I don't know that_." General Lane said.

"Yes, I think you do. You knew that Sofia used me to bait a trap to catch Superman. I know you've been working with her. She's done something with him and even if you don't know off the top of your head, it shouldn't be difficult to find out."

" _Lois, I don't know._ "

"Then find out and do it quickly and then make sure he's let go." Lois growled. "Metropolis does not need someone _pretending_ to be a hero. The city doesn't need someone deliberately putting it in danger just so they can rescue it and call themselves the savior. It needs the real hero. It _needs_ Superman.

"I just hope you can get that through your thick skull before it's too late."

Though she did pull the phone away from her ear, she didn't end the call. She didn't have time to end the call. The old court-house doors banged open, something that didn't immediately alert the rest of the SCU because they were used to people barging in and out of the place regularly.

Three men with knit balaclavas over their heads and automatic rifles in their hands were generally not the sort of people who barged in and out, though.

"Hello children!" the leader bellowed, causing the SCU to look up at last. "Time for death!"

And he fired a spray of bullets around the room.

Lois wasn't sure if she dove or fell, but the next thing she knew, she was on the floor. She scrambled for the cover of the nearby desk, glad that the backs went all the way down to the floor and were thick, solid oak that would surely slow down at least a few bullets.

Getting her legs underneath her so no part of her was visible, she saw that the rest of the cops had done the same dive-for-cover thing, safely behind the desks and no one appeared to have been shot.

The gunfire stopped only a few seconds after it had started, when everyone was behind the desks. Gordon took that as his cue and leaned around the side of the desk he was behind to return fire and the three intruders ducked and leapt out of the way.

"Gordon!" Maggie shouted. "I did not give orders to open fire!"

"Life or death, lieutenant! There's no time to argue the merits of following orders!" Gordon shouted back.

Maggie rolled her eyes. "Ugh, no wonder you have so many disciplinary write-ups." she muttered, too low to be properly heard by anyone but Turpin right beside her. Jim Gordon was a good cop who spent more time acting of his own initiative than someone else's. That didn't make him a bad cop. Just a reckless one.

"Give it up! We hold all the cards!" called the leader from where he had taken cover behind the perpetually empty reception desk.

"You don't have anything over us!" Maggie shouted. Honestly, she didn't know what they had. It wasn't like a demand or an ultimatum had been the first thing out of their mouths.

"We have this!"

And the leader thrust up a black case that Lois recognized despite not actually having seen it. It was like her intuition had twinged, telling her of the disaster that lurked inside that hard black plastic.

"Don't shoot! That's the virus!" she shouted at the SCU.

"Yes it is!" the leader sing-songed, waving the case a little. "This little baby holds the entire future of Metropolis! You crack even one vial, the entire city falls to ruin in a week!"

 _-He's lying. He doesn't know a thing.-_ Detective Jones's voice sounded eerily and loudly in their heads, making them flinch and there was a series of mental yelps before they all remembered what was going on.

 _-Right... Telepathy...-_ Maggie thought faintly. _-You can do this?-_

 _-It is merely a surface connection, exactly the same as speaking out loud, but a great deal more private.-_ Detective Jones explained. _-I apologize for not obtaining your permission first, but there was no time.-_

 _-Ah... Well, in that case...-_ Lyle started, a bit tentatively. _-I've found something in the files about the transmission of the virus. In liquid form, it has to come in contact with the skin first or other mucus membranes. The aerosol form has to be inhaled. There's a nine day incubation period and it's actually pretty similar to smallpox. It looks like Dr. Essex might have used the smallpox virus to fill in some gaps in the gene sequence to make humans more susceptible.-_

 _-Which would mean there is a chance of manufacturing of workable vaccine.-_ Turpin realized.

 _-Something that would slow the progression of the virus, at least.-_ Lyle agreed. He wasn't seeing a lot of wiggle room in the geneticist's thorough notes, but there was still more wiggle room than he had initially thought there would be. If it was somewhat similar to smallpox (and they had wiped that shit off the map by 1979), then they stood a much better chance.

But the leader of the bomb squad didn't know that. He just thought he had the upper hand and continued to wave the case tauntingly.

"What'll it be, coppers?" he asked. "Gonna let us do our jobs or are _you_ gonna be responsible for unleashing an epidemic on the city?"

"What, and _you_ wanna be responsible for that instead?!" Lois shouted across the room. "The stuff will effect you just the same as the rest of us!"

"We're gonna be inoculated!" the leader said smugly.

"Are you important enough?" Lois asked challengingly. "Because there's only so much of the vaccine available! Who do you think is more important, the city leaders or the three hired goons who made this disaster in the first place?"

There was silence, as the squad leader had no answer.

"You'd be remembered as important, yeah, but as the idiots who touched off a global pandemic." Lois added. "Do you want to be responsible for killing ninety percent of the human population in a matter of maybe three months? It's _that_ contagious. Do you want that weight on your shoulders as you die? Straight to hell, y'know. Do not pass 'Go', do not collect redemption."

There was more silence from the bomb squad, the three of them looking at each other like they were silently asking the other if they had actually been aware of the damage they would do.

"So," Lois grinned, strongly suspecting that she had them in a corner. "What'll it be?"

* * *

-0-


	39. The Superhero Effect

I keep telling myself "I should be able to finish chapter 24 today" and then it keeps. not. happening. I'm getting there. Chapter 24 is coming along, just _real slowly_. I think it's going to end up being another "fuck it this looks good" type of chapter.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Superhero Effect

Half a mile out and two hundred feet below the water was the last place anyone would have anticipated finding a government research facility, even despite its disguise as a monitoring station for both pollution and rock sturgeon (To be thorough, the facility did provide feedback on both).

There were very few windows in the facility, making it easier for the occupants to ignore the fact they were underwater. One window was located in the lounge room, where General Lane stood. There wasn't much to see at this time of year. The fish had migrated to the deeper points to escape the pervasive cold. The rocky lake-bed didn't provide much distraction from Lois's voice in his ear.

" _Think about that one._ " she was saying passionately." _Half of Metropolis fleeing the city for Christmas and New Year's, most of them asymptomatic and contagious as fuck, the rest of them showing distinct signs of illness. They'll spread it through airplanes, buses, trains, diners, restaurants, the shopping malls! It'll move down every line of travel and commerce! By January, maybe February, we could be looking at a global pandemic!_ "

General Lane pressed his lips together to make sure he didn't betray anything because _goddammit_ , Lois was right. They had asked for a virus, something contagious enough to spread with moderate swiftness and something tough enough that the average CDC grunt couldn't figure it out in a reasonable amount of time. They had needed something that would cause enough panic to make the global news, to make the situation desperate.

Desperate but containable.

He hadn't planned for it to be released just before the holiday travel season like this. Mid-January, early February, when there was less of a chance that it would spread along every form of commercial travel.

But what difference did that make now?

How was that any better?

" _And when I'm the one dying of Blue Ring Fever, I'll look back and think 'Well fuck you too, Dad'._ " Lois finished in the most acidic tone of voice General Lane had heard from her yet.

 _That's why I wanted you in on the inside. So you'd be inoculated immediately. So you and Lucy wouldn't die in the outbreak._ He thought.

But how did that make it any better?

He had still been plotting to help commit genocide. Sofia Gigante might have come up with the plan, but he had been assisting her.

He should have known better. He should have guessed the worst after watching the Gazzo family wither away into nothing while the Gigante family had regained the control they had lost with Rocco's death and pushed ever higher without being caught by anyone.

Even the Gigante family, with Carmine Falcone on their side, couldn't have moved in such large steps and grand gestures without someone catching on. Despite all apparent best efforts, Metropolis was still nothing like Gotham. The police could not be blinded by the gleam of a fifty dollar bill.

He should have suspected that someone was putting up smokescreens.

It had been a good plan, at least on paper. Metropolis had been looking a bit rough around the edges in recent years. Former Mayor Berkowitz had been a plague on the populace, wreaking havoc with his ridiculous policies that had nearly put the city in an early grave. The police had been under-staffed, schools under-funded, taxes had been inching higher but none of that money seemed to be going anywhere. Except perhaps to line the pockets of Berkowitz and his trusted underlings. They had been sinking back into the mire of economic depression, similar to what they had already suffered after the copper mine closure.

Metropolis had needed a face-lift and an enema like whoa.

Berkowitz hadn't so much as left office as much as he had been arrested for a laundry list of petty misdeeds that had added up over time. The actual court case had been catalyzed by his P.A. suing him for sexual harassment and _everything_ had come pouring out of the cracks during the investigation period. Everything from the diverting of funds on projects like the Bronze Bridge to the quiet pardons to the on-the-sly shut-downs of soup kitchens and homeless shelters.

Unfortunately for Berkowitz, the court system hadn't fallen to internal corruption and Judge Santiago had presided over the case. Well known for his hard-line policies, Judge Santiago had watched with mild glee as their former mayor tried to plead not guilty only to be smacked with the fullest measure of the law and fifty years of jail time that he probably wouldn't live to the end of.

But the two incoming mayoral candidates had been far from ideal when it came to helping Metropolis out of its rut. Buck Sackett had spent the campaign period so low in the polls he'd nearly been achieving negative results. He had run directly on Berkowitz's platform, vowing to further what their then-mayor had begun and that was without touching on his wild ideas about female biology and the function of hormones.

By then, the people of Metropolis had been so sick of cronyism and brain-damaged idiots in their government that the metaphorical rock-throwing had begun five words into Sackett's very first speech.

The actual rock-throwing had started about a week later.

Lois's blog had begun then, her commentary _just_ this side of inflammatory but so vividly colorful and memorable and well-worded that major news networks had lifted quotes from the posts to use in their remarks.

General Lane remembered reading the posts, almost smirking at his daughter's wit and word-use. Ella would have been swelling with pride to see her oldest developing the sharpness of a scalpel.

In contrast to Sackett, Joanne Kovac had looked like a rock-star. Clearly sane, delightfully level-headed, and able to speak to the average person without leaving them feeling disturbed, she had been the better candidate by a margin that was off the charts. She had run her platform on reversing Berkowitz's insane policies, an announcement that had instantly made her very popular. Though polling at ninety-eight percent by the night before election, enthusiasm had been tempered somewhat by her considerable inexperience.

It hadn't stopped the choice from being easy to make, but that still hadn't magically granted her the political experience to turn the city around all the way and get it moving in the right direction.

Metropolis was still a mess. It had taken Mayor Kovac more than a year and a half to tear the down the worst and most insidious aspects from Berkowitz's reign of stupidity. An unfortunate number of minions still remained in seats of power, determined to keep Mayor Kovac from accomplishing all she was trying to do.

It wasn't her fault, not exactly. The men in the cabinet were too used to being allowed to move unimpeded, but she had neither the gumption nor the respect to corral them again.

When it came to cleaning up messes, General Lane had learned to take the extreme. He wiped out the problem down to the root and started over from scratch. Sometimes, that was all that worked.

It wasn't good politics, but in his eyes, it had looked like the best way to fix the problems in Metropolis. And there had been a desperate need to rip out the corrupted elements from the city's infrastructure before they dug themselves in too deeply.

Before they turned into Gotham.

No one wanted to become Gotham.

When Sofia Gigante had approached him with just the plan he had been looking for - one that would clean slate Metropolis and allow them to start over from the ground up, he had barely thought twice about it.

He should have questioned it more thoroughly. He never should have trusted a Falcone as much as he had.

 _You're right._ General Lane wanted to say in that brief moment of silence. _You were right all along and I'm such a massively-sized idiot that your mother would slaughter me for my deliberate blindness. I fucked up so hard she might rise from the dead. She'd cut out my heart and show it to me before she rips off my head and shits down my throat._

The words didn't come.

" _Dad._ " Lois's voice was calm and quiet in the same way the sky was quiet in the eye of a hurricane. " _Where's Superman?_ "

"Lois, I don't know that." General Lane lied. _Down two corridors, section C, room eighty-two._

" _Yes, I think you do._ " his daughter argued back." _You knew that Sofia used me to bait a trap to catch Superman. I know you've been working with her. She's done something with him and even if you don't know off the top of your head, it shouldn't be difficult to find out._ "

"Lois, I don't know." General Lane repeated, unable to think of anything else to say. She had him backed into a corner and she probably knew it. She would go in for the kill next.

" _Then find out and do it quickly and then make sure he's let go._ _Metropolis does not need someone pretending to be a hero. The city doesn't need someone deliberately putting it in danger just so they can rescue it and call themselves the savior._ "

Ouch, there it was. Lois had gone for the jugular and may the window cave in on him if she wasn't on the nose. That was exactly what the plan had been about, in the end. To manufacture a disaster that would leave the city struggling and desperate and looking for anyone to save them. When they had come forward with the vaccine, they would have been hailed as heroes and no one would think twice about their probably shady plans to rebuild the city. After a swift end to an epidemic, anything would sound like a choir of angels.

They'd never see the new problems until it was already too late.

" _It needs the real hero. It needs Superman._ " Lois tacked on, not done driving that one in. She sighed. " _I just hope you can get that through your thick skull before it's too late._ "

The conversation ended there. General Lane sighed heavily as he took the phone from his ear and ended the call. There was no need to continue it; Lois had said her piece. She had made her opinion known, her position set. As per usual, it was the exact opposite of whatever he espoused. It had been like that between them for years. If General Lane said one thing, his daughter popped up with the opposite remarks. Half the time, it seemed that she argued the other side just to spite him.

But this time?

No, this time he couldn't blame her taking the opposite stance, because everything Sofia Gigante stood for was the exact opposite of what Lois Lane believed in. Lois Lane believed in freedom of speech and the power of the press and equality wherever it could be found. She believed in truth and justice and _-_ \- dare he be cliché enough to add _-_ \- the American way.

She didn't believe in lying or pulling the wool over a person's eyes. Lois preferred the truth above all things. It was why she worked for the _Daily Planet_.

And she believed in heroes.

Lois Lane believed in the power of superheroes and in all the good they could affect just by being visible figures. How they were so incredibly important as role models and the monumental damage that could be inflicted should people lose faith in them.

She believed in the Superhero Effect.

General Lane had always known this about his oldest daughter and he'd still been foolish enough to think that she could be swayed off her ethics and morals and ideals.

Hell, they hadn't even tried to put an incentive on the table.

Not that bribing would have worked.

General Lane wiped a hand down his face in exhaustion. The last fifteen minutes or so had been something like emotional whiplash. Double-crossed out of his own plan, made to believe that his oldest was dead, only she wasn't due to some miracle or another. Still alive to call him out and rub his nose in a mess of his own creation. Relief over Lois's survival and guilt over the plan warred in him, leaving him feeling off-kilter and a tad out of control. He didn't like either sensation. He had always been in control, keeping everything straight and on target and moving like it was expected to.

He wasn't used to his projects getting away from him.

He didn't like it when his plans were stolen.

It was poetic justice to the general that Sofia had been double-crossed as well, but it was much worse than another Benedict. Sofia had sought to move the plan forward and in all likelihood, this third party had talked her into it. Given the disaster that would ensue should the virus be unleashed now rather than two months from now, it was uncomfortably safe to assume that the third party didn't have a plan that even remotely hinted at altruism (not that his plan had been any more altruistic).

More like they were going to douse the city in lighter fluid and then sit back to watch it burn.

The world would burn too.

 _Shit... Well, Project 7734 is going to have to wait and Eiling can kiss my ass. What use is it to study meta-powers if there isn't anyone left to do so?_ General Lane rationalized. _Metropolis doesn't need this_.

He marched out of the lounge at a parade ground pace, his expression set in business mode so no one would feel inclined to stop him. Two corridors down and to room eighty-two. He punched in his security code and the door whooshed open. Superman was still strapped down to the slab table and his head jerked up when the door opened. He looked a bit sickly than when General Lane had left about half an hour earlier, like he was battling a gut-deep nausea, but he still mustered up a decent glare.

General Lane took the remote out of his pocket and Superman flinched automatically, expecting a shock, but he pressed the green button instead of the red. The shackles retracted and Superman almost threw himself off the table in his haste to get off of it. He staggered away until he bumped into the wall and leaned on it, breathing slowly and deeply, and clutching his stomach.

"Why?" he asked, his entire face crinkling in confusion.

"Because I've made a mistake and my daughters will never forgive me if I don't try correcting it." General Lane admitted, although primly. "I conspired in a plan to all but destroy Metropolis in what would appear to be a bio-terrorism attack. Sofia Gigante double-crossed me by conspiring with a third party. That third party, in turn, double-crossed her. Currently, there is a total of roughly sixteen to seventeen bombs scattered in strategic locations around the city. This number and these locations may have changed in the time it took for Sofia to secure the plan solely under her influence. These bombs are to be loaded with a highly contagious virus that was manufactured by Dr. Essex _-_ \- Nam-Ek, to use his real name. To the very best of my knowledge, he was the only one who had the formula for the vaccine."

Realization dawned on Superman's face. "That's why you were so interested in knowing where he was."

"Yes. As of this moment, the vaccine does exist but in a very limited supply. We would only be able to inoculate one hundred individuals." the general said. "Should the virus be released now, the incubation period will expire just in time for the holiday travel season. And then it will spread across the world in very short order."

"Why?" Superman asked again. "Why would you think about doing something like that?"

"I'm sure you've noticed the state that Metropolis is still in." General Lane said. "There are corrupted elements embedded deep in the government that refuse to be shaken out. Former Mayor Berkowitz is still having an effect on the city, one that needs to be taken out at the root."

"And unleashing an epidemic on the city was going to help with that?" Superman growled, starting to straighten up.

"Because I've dealt in nothing but extremes for most of my life. My knee-jerk choice is the orbital nuke option." General Lane said mildly. "My motive was altruistic. My method not so much."

"No kidding." Superman muttered. He straightened his shoulders now, making the long crimson cape ripple down his back. "Who's the third party?"

"I don't know. Mrs. Gigante is keeping that one to herself." General Lane replied. "But their demands are clear. Unless you are handed to them within the next half hour, they will detonate the bombs. The immediate blasts will destroy at least fourteen individual city blocks and three bridges and countless lives. It will also release a vaporized form of the virus into the air. An estimated two weeks incubation period and then it would be all over the nation before the end of the year. You might understand why it would be in the country's best interest to turn you over to this third party.

"However, turning you over to their custody is no guarantee that they will stop the countdown." the general went on, before Superman could say anything to protest. "What I've been told is that Metropolis needs a hero and my daughter Lois believes that's you."

"Lois _believes_?" Superman repeated incredulously, latching onto the use of present tense. It wasn't past tense _'Lois believed'_ ; it wasn't speculative wording like _'Lois would believe'_. No, no, the general was speaking like Lois had told him that very thing just a few minutes ago.

"Yes, it seemed pancaking her on the street was not part of the new plan." General Lane said, noting the faint wobble in the other man's legs. "She's still alive and I want to keep it that way."

 _Alive..._

 _Lois is alive!_

The thought swept over Superman in a rush and he felt himself reeling back. He put a hand on the wall to steady himself. He didn't even want to start speculating on the hows or the whys, but Lois had cheated Death for the billionth time.

She was alive.

 _There was still a chance._

"Here's the deal." General Lane began, all business now. "Save the city. Get rid of the bombs, get rid of the virus, nab that third party, and I will publicly stick my neck out for you. You won't have my full confidence or trust, but you've saved Lois no less than three times already so I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. But only _once_. Is that understood?"

"From you, I wouldn't expect anything less." Superman couldn't help the grin now. He could really see where Lois got it all from.

General Lane looked vaguely approving. "Save this city and I'll keep hell off your back. Deal?"

He put a hand out in a firm manner and Superman reached to take it when he heard the distant tear of steel and the crumble of concrete and the gush of water, followed immediately by a piercing alarm. The lights went red.

" _Hull breach! We have a hull breach in section B!_ " yelled a frantic voice through the intercom.

General Lane dove for the intercom in the wall, slapping a hand on the button. "Seal the bulkheads! Evacuate the area!"

"Are we underwater?" Superman asked. He should have suspected it earlier, but the cuffs hadn't just sapped away his strength. They'd managed to dull his senses too.

"Two hundred feet under the surface of the lake." General Lane answered.

That was when the howling started. A long-winded, eerie hunting howl that rose and fell through three octaves in a span of two seconds, from a low growl to a high-pitched cry that could have been heard for miles. One that Superman had heard maybe twice, but he had never forgotten _that_ sound.

It reminded him that Krypto was, in fact, a sub-species of wolf.

"What the hell?!" General Lane demanded, cringing at the sound. It must have been inciting some atavistic memory deep in his lizard brain, telling him to run from something that obviously a danger. His hand grabbed at the gun in the waist holster.

"No, I've got this!" Superman said quickly, before the general could consider trying something rash.

He rushed out of the room as soon as the door opened. Water trickled across the floor and he could hear the grind of the bulkhead doors rising quickly enough to stop the flood. The eerie howling persisted until Superman whistled sharply. Krypto's vocalizations immediately changed from piping howls to happy barks and the dog launched himself around the corner a moment later. He was soaked and dripping, his white fur plastered down, and he smelled strongly of the lake, but that didn't stop him from throwing all one hundred and twenty pounds bodily into Superman's chest.

He went "oof!" under the weight and staggered a little, still feeling a tad queasy and weak around the knees, but caught the dog nonetheless. Krypto all but climbed up his shoulders, letting out little yipping puppy-barks before he proceeded to slather Superman's face with dog drool.

"Not up my nose!" Superman tried to get his head out of range of the slobbery pink tongue, but there was no escaping a dog who could fly.

' _Up your nose!'_ Krypto thought and aimed his next lick for the man's nostrils. That would teach him to make a dog worry. Stupid Alpha wasn't allowed to vanish off the face of the planet like that without warning.

"Gah!" Superman put his arm over his face. "No, stop _-_ \- Krypto, stop. _Stop_!"

' _Never!'_

"You really do have a dog."

General Lane had poked his head tentatively out the door while the lights resumed their normal color, watching the scene with raised eyebrows. Immediately, Krypto's tail went down and his ears went flat and he showed his teeth warningly.

Superman resisted the urge to say "told you" smugly. Instead, he said. "Don't get close. He's protective."

"I see." General Lane said. He didn't move forward, but he didn't back away either. He had reacted to the intimidation gesture by drawing his shoulders back and squaring them like he was going to fight.

"And he's still a puppy." Superman added, just to make sure the general _knew_ that Krypto wasn't yet at his adult size. He was already oversized for the breed he appeared to be and it was hard to imagine that he was going to get _bigger_.

General Lane went "hmm" thoughtfully and if anything, he squared his shoulders even more.

"One chance, Superman." he repeated, back to business. If anything fazed him, then never for long. "One chance. If you blow it _-_ -"

"Then we're all dead anyways." Superman finished. He let Krypto out of his arms. "Show me the way out."

The hallways were interconnected enough that no part of the facility was isolated from another in the event they had to shut the bulkhead doors. It did mean taking a more of a round-about path in order to get to the main entrance and that meant they walked right by the office where Sofia had been locked in, albeit with a narrow window view to the corridor outside. She hissed when she saw General Lane leading Superman past and grabbed her phone out of her coat pocket (why they hadn't relieved her of it, she couldn't fathom).

"Mannheim." she growled.

" _Ah, Sofia my darling. How are you?_ " asked the disguised but charming voice of her once-benefactor. " _Am I to presume that you've become wise to my little scheme?_ "

"Currently, I am imagining the moment I will wring your neck." Sofia said. "But I believe that I still might be able to salvage something out of this mess you made _-_ -"

" _Yes, yes, I was going to give Metropolis to you anyways._ " Mannheim said dismissively. " _My plan only includes Metropolis in the short-term. After that, it's yours. I do keep my promises._ "

"Very well." Sofia said grudgingly, her teeth gritted. "You should know that the general is letting Superman go."

" _Is he?_ "

"And I imagine it's so he can stop your plan."

" _Dear, dear,_ " Mannheim tutted silkily. " _I'm afraid that just won't do. I do believe it's time to give Superman a proper work-out, don't you? Sit tight, Sofia dear. Ta-ta for now._ "

And she hung up before Sofia could voice any questions. The mafia queen growled, squeezing her phone so hard it creaked. She wasn't going to delude herself into believing for a second that Mannheim was really going to give her Metropolis when all was said and done.

Moreover, it was really a question of if there would be anything left of Metropolis to claim.

* * *

The airlock whooshed open, releasing the last cloud of air bubbles and ejecting Clark and Krypto into the cold depths of Lake Superior. Clark's eyes adjusted quickly to the relative dimness. There were the train tracks, just as General Lane had said; they led up to the beach to the launching station. Oriented now, he started to swim for the surface.

He was a strong swimmer; he sort of had to be. Of practically everyone in Smaville, Clark was the first person to sink in any substantial body of water, so he'd always had to fight harder to keep himself afloat. Knowing now that he had denser bones and muscles, it made perfect sense.

 _You know, the last time I was under water like this, I'd met Lois just three hours earlier._ He remembered, almost fondly. It wasn't a distinctly pleasant memory, but there was something about it that would stick in his mind for a long time to come.

Like it had set the tone for their entire relationship.

He would look back on that one day and wonder _how_.

They burst out of the water and into the cold wintry air. Clark shivered briefly as he shook the water out of his air, his cape clinging to his back and legs. The sun wasn't exactly out, but it was wonderfully warm in contrast to the cold water. Clark breathed in deeply, taking a fresh breath of air. It helped chase away some of the lingering queasiness and his wrists and ankles tingled like they were getting circulation again.

Krypto shook himself out like a spin cycle, shedding water in a full three hundred and sixty degree circle.

"Hey! Knock it off!"

Dr. Sullivan's squawked and offended voice made Clark turn around, seeing the older man shielding himself from the spray. Krypto gave his tail a final flick, aiming the water drops right at the older Kryptonian's face.

"Hey, I stayed out of the water for a reason! Don't get me wet too!" Dr. Sullivan protested, wiping the water off. "Lousy mutt..."

"You didn't want to contribute to the rescue effort?" Clark asked, grinning all the same.

Dr. Sullivan looked down at the water ten feet below them and there was a brief spasm of fear on his face.

"I don't like swimming." he said calmly.

Which was likely code for _'I can't swim'_ or something similar. Maybe he had enjoyed swimming back on Krypton but his heavier bone density here on Earth made drowning a much more realistic possibility.

"Let's put some height between us and the water." Dr. Sullivan suggested, already rising.

"Do _you_ know what's going on?" Clark asked urgently. "About the bombs and the virus?"

"Yes. Lois gave me a heads-up." Dr. Sullivan grinned. "She's alive."

"I know. General Lane already told me." Clark assured him. "That's why he let me go. He wants me to stop the bombs from going off. He made a mistake. He wants to make up for it."

"Good on him. I don't think he knew he what planning to unleash." Dr. Sullivan grumbled, scowling. "This virus, Blue Ring Fever? First thing, Nam-Ek created it, but not from scratch. There aren't too many undiscovered diseases on this planet; just variants of existing ones and WHO has figured out how to fight most all of them.

"But _this_ one? Nam-Ek created this monster. It's a derivative of the Contact Plague."

"What?! And he bellowed at _me_ about being a diseased abomination?! He accused my parents of being careless and he was the one recreating a deadly plague that killed half of Krypton?!"

"I know, that hypocrite." Dr. Sullivan heaved a lofty, annoyed sigh.

Clark half wished he could reach into the Phantom Zone just so he could punch Nam-Ek one more time. Seriously, where did he get off lecturing Clark for the mild risk his parents had taken to attempt a natural birth, when Nam-Ek was the one reviving a deadly pox?

"Would we be immune to this strain?" Clark wondered, suddenly worried that they wouldn't be. "I mean, it must have been tweaked to infect humans and even though neither of us are human..."

"I don't want to take that chance." Dr. Sullivan said flatly. There was a good chance that the new strain might beat their immune systems, what with the existing mutation already a part of their genetic make-up. "Now the last I knew of the situation, Sofia Gigante was going to be the one to release it."

Clark shook his head. "Not the case anymore. General Lane **was** working with Sofia Gigante. They both planned the idea of releasing the virus, but then she double-crossed him. Apparently, she was working with a third party who double-crossed her like half an hour ago."

"Sounds like a regular old clusterfuck." Dr. Sullivan commented, frowning thoughtfully. "That explains it better. The third party wants the city to turn you over to their custody for some reason and they'll stop the detonation. For obvious reasons, I thought they already _had_ you."

"General Lane doesn't think turning me over is any guarantee that they'll actually stop the countdown." Clark agreed. He glanced to his right, where the cityscape had risen. "We still have... what, half an hour?"

"Just about." Dr. Sullivan carded a hand through his graying hair. "All right, I suppose you're the one who's going to deal with the bombs."

"Why?"

"Because of the two of us, you're the only one dressed like a hero."

Clark looked down at himself and supposed that his grandfather was right.

"I," Dr. Sullivan gestured to himself. "Am going to clean out Nam-Ek's private lab before someone gets the bright idea to torch the place. They'll be covering their tracks if we all make it through this and I expect we'll need the evidence. Can you handle the city?"

"This isn't the time to find out, but I'll have to." Clark admitted, shrugging.

Dr. Sullivan clasped a comforting hand on the younger Kryptonian's shoulder. "You'll do fine." he reassured. Then he moved away. "Krypto, I'm going to need your nose. I know it's somewhere in the Slums, but I don't know where exactly."

Krypto woofed an affirmative.

"Good luck, Clark. I'll help you if I can."

"Take care, Gramps."

"Ooh, that's how it's gonna be?" Dr. Sullivan asked suspiciously.

"Oh, you bet that's how it's gonna be." Clark replied, grinning.

"Get going, you young whippersnapper!" Dr. Sullivan shouted, giving him a playful shove in the direction of Metropolis. "There's a city to save!"

They parted ways over Reeve's Harbor, with Dr. Sullivan and Krypto swinging over the Hamstead borough so the roboticist could grab a backpack or two from his house. Clark detoured a little more south, heading for New Troy. He didn't know where to start looking for anything like bombs, but they would be in important locations: government buildings, banks, maybe hospitals, and certainly some of the bridges.

 _The southern bridges, like the Queensland or the Ordway Memorial or the Mayfair. Any of them that connected to the lower half of the peninsula is fair game, but that's a total of nine bridges all the way up through the West River._

Was his x-ray vision powerful enough to sweep the entire city from this height? Would he even recognize the bombs if he saw them?

The city was more than on alert, though. Even from this high up, Clark could hear people shouting at each other and crying, sirens wailing through the streets, crunches of metal when cars collided. The south-bound bridges were jammed with people trying to escape and six of the nine bridges were blocked by overturned vehicles. People had abandoned their cars to try and make it on foot.

The entire city was a screaming cacophony of chaos and Clark didn't know where to start.

"I guess I'll have to improvise." he muttered.

All at once, he remembered something Lois had said to him not all that long ago: _"Improvise?! What are you trying to be, crazy?! You can't go in there with a quarter-assed plan and expect to win! That's what gets wanna-be heroes like you killed!"_

"Sorry, Lois." Clark said out loud. "But even a wanna-be hero has got to be crazy enough to expect to win _-_ \- And what was _that_ down there?!"

'Down there' was somewhere in Midtown, right around where he suspected the police station was. 'That' was a visible pillar of gray smoke which had been preceded by a distant rumbling noise.

 _An explosion_.

One of the bombs.

One of the bombs had just detonated.

"As good a place to start as any for some wanna-be hero."

Superman dove.

* * *

-0-


	40. Fire in the Hole

If you look closely, you can see where I said "fuck it close enough". Even this chapter seems abrupt to me, but I was so close to finally being done that I was on the edge of not caring. It's not bad, but it's not my best. I know it's not my best. Let's just roll with it.

Chapter 24 still ain't done, but holy crap look how close this story is to being fully posted

* * *

Chapter Forty: Fire in the Hole

Lois's challenging words still all but rung in the air. _"So what'll it be?"_

The SCU might as well have been a world away from the rest of Metropolis for how quiet it was inside. For as old as the building was, it was remarkably sound-proof. Therefore, they couldn't hear very well the screeching sirens and the general panic and chaos that was overtaking the city block by block.

At the desk behind Lois, she heard Maggie Sawyer whisper something to her third in command, Sergeant Escudero, in a tone too low to be understood. There were mental whispers over the psychic link that Detective Jones had established between them, mostly consisting of a lot of _-C'mon punks! Try it!-_ sort of thoughts.

Then there was a squeak of rubber shoe soles pushing off the floor. They were all ducked down too far to really see over the divider wall and the empty reception desk, but they did hear one of the hired goons running, followed by the slam of one of the outside doors opening. For a moment, the chaos outside became audible and then door swung shut, bringing silence back to the inside of the building.

"Hey you two!" Maggie called out, rising up a little from the cover of the desk. "I think your buddy has the right idea. Just leave the case behind. Slide it out to where we can see it and then leave."

"Run!" Turpin added.

There was no movement from the other side of the reception desk. Maybe they were still weighing their options.

 _-Hey uh... Are we still on the talking heads frequency down here?-_ came Officer Mill's voice tenatively.

 _-Uh...-_ Maggie glanced over at Turpin and he nodded. _-Yeah, go for Sawyer.-_

 _-So bad news.-_ Officer Mills sounded hesitant. _-Our bomb just lit up. Like... I think it's been remotely activated.-_

Lois felt her heart or her stomach leap into her throat at that and she sent a slightly wild glance to a few desks over where Colletta was crouched alongside Sergeant Kesel. Colletta returned the look and shrugged as if to say _'Sorry, what can you do?'_ , but no words passed between them.

 _-Shit. Shit, how much time are we getting? -_ Maggie demanded, fighting the urge to run down into the boiler room to rip the bomb off the wall.

 _-It's fluctuating.-_ Harper responded this time. _-Literally, the timer keeps jumping over a five minute period, but I'd say we have a minimum of ten minutes._ -

 _-Hang tight, I think I might be able to do something about that with this piece of equipment.-_ Lyle declared, his fingers flying across the keyboard.

 _-Is there even time for that?-_ Lois asked.

 _-Optimistically, no.-_ Harper replied.

 _-Bundle of sunshine, you.-_ Colletta muttered mentally.

"Hey boys! The bomb's gone live!" Maggie shouted at the goons across the way. "You still want to finish the job? You still want to be the pair of idiots who killed the world?"

They might have given in right then, Lois would think in retrospect. They were three young dumb stupid kids who had probably been paid a lot of money to plant the virus but had no earthly idea the kind of damage they would be responsible for. Sometimes, just giving the young, dumb, and stupid a chance to re-consider their current path was more than enough to make them set the weapons down.

They might have given in if they had gotten the chance.

The kid who had run out earlier suddenly came back through the door, screaming blue murder and half of his face a mess of blood. He had this awful hysterical look in his eyes, like he had just peeked at a glimpse of hell. Something barged through the doors right after him, too large to fit through the frame but that didn't stop it. It forced its way in and the structure creaked in distress. Great big slavering jaws snapped and bit at the air where the bomb squad kid had been standing just seconds earlier. The beast lunged forward, dragging its huge body through the straining doorway and the wall cracked around it.

It looked like a dog, but only in the sense that it was shaped like one. Four legs, a tail, a lupine head, and other dog-like attributes. Frankly, that was where the similarities ended.

After all, most dogs weren't ten feet tall and about as long and **didn't** look like what this one looked like.

The skin didn't look so much like skin as it resembled a cracked lava bed and it even glowed a hideous red-orange in the cracks, as though it was on fire from the inside. Heat distortions blurred the air around it. The shoulders were so hunched, the forequarters so distended that the back half of the dog-creature looked roached. The chest looked horrifically stretched as well, as though the skin was just barely clinging to the external bony ribs. The waist tapered down to a point that would have had any well-educated veterinarian screeching starvation, before the body expanded again into bulging hindquarters. The tail was just a nub, docked like a Doberman's.

The paws didn't look nearly large enough to support such a massive body, but the claws were over a foot long and needle-sharp. Huge ram-like horns curved over the top of the skull, framing a pair of scalloped pig-like ears. The eyes were bloodshot and rabid-looking with slit pupils and long strings of drool spattered off the snapping jaws. The teeth were like spiral drill bits and they had to be a good ten to twelve inches long, each. And every single one of them closed around the kid who had tried to make a better choice with his life.

Lois had seen a few gruesome things in her time. You couldn't run with a gang captained by Sofia Gigante without bearing witness to at least one statement-making execution.

In their time, the SCU had seen some awful things as well. They were cops. The bad ones happened now and again. The police kept therapists on staff payroll for a reason.

But whether it was the arterial blood spray or the sound of the bones breaking or the lost expression on the kid's face like he couldn't comprehend what was going on or just the ungodly, unearthly beast what done it, it didn't matter. Somehow, this was just worst than all the other past experiences.

The hellhound opened its jaws only to bite down again and surely the kid was dead by the time the teeth speared through his body again (something in his eyes appeared to be fade). The hellhound threw the corpse into the air and caught it as it fell. The poor kid's body tumbled down its throat. It chewed a few times, watching the SCU with some manner of challenging glare, and then swallowed. A long tongue licked its chops clean and it looked around as if searching eagerly for its next bite.

" _GET OUT OF THERE!_ " Maggie screamed at the remaining young dumb kids.

 _-Duck, Miss Lane!-_ Detective Jones ordered mentally, and Lois did, just as Maggie threw herself over the top of the desk and opened fire.

The new SIG Sauer P250 had a muzzle velocity of up to thirteen hundred feet per second and that was enough to punch a decent hole in flesh. The hellhound flinched when the bullets impacted, so it clearly felt them, but even at a distance, Lois saw the bullets ping right off its lava-like skin.

Maggie exhausted the clip, leaving a ringing silence in the wake of the last bang. But the hellhound just shook itself from nose to tail as though the bullets had been as irritating as a mosquito bite.

Its bloodshot eyes roved around the main concourse, pausing for a second to focus on each one of them. Lois had a terrible feeling it was sizing them up from most threatening to least. Then it growled, a bowel-watering brown note that reverberated more through the floor than the air.

The two remaining kids sprang up screaming, half-vaulting, half-falling over the divider wall as the hellhound lunged after them, bloodied jaws opened wide in hopes of catching one of them.

The leader escaped the first swipe of teeth by falling directly over the wall as soon as his upper body tilted far enough with the black case against his chest, but his comrade wasn't nearly as lucky. His own legs were still sticking out and he was too slow to pull himself over the wall. The hellhound's front pairs of incisors sank into the kid's calf muscle.

In that second, Lois learned of a new personal definition for 'blood-curdling'.

"Open fire!" Maggie ordered, dropping the emptied clip from her gun. "Head! Front legs! Shoulders! Fire fire fire!"

The SCU took up the order with gusto. Lois clamped her hands harder over her ears, not sure how the police avoided going deaf during a shoot-out like this. The noise of nine guns going off all at once was simply incredible.

Not that nine guns did a single thing. The hellhound growled low in its throat and flinched at each bullet, but not a one pierced its skin. It threw the poor kid aside with a toss of its misshapen head (he hit the corner of the wall neck-first and there was such a sickening crack that it was a good bet his neck was broken) and thrust its jaws over the dividing wall down at the bomb squad leader flat on his back.

"Get outta there you dumb-shit!" Gordon bellowed over the erratic burst of gunfire.

But whether the kid heard him or not was just not the problem. It was those big, blood-stained jaws and the spiral drill-bit teeth that bore down on him. The leader let out a sobbing cry, too paralyzed with fear to move.

Without thinking about her own safety on the matter, Lois grabbed a heavy-looking desk name plaque and sprinted out from behind the safety of the desk. She charged across the floor as fast as she could with being so low to it.

"Lois!" Colletta growled.

"Hold your fire!" Maggie ordered, pulling her gun up. The bullets stopped in that same moment.

"Miss Lane!" Gordon shouted reflexively, and then charged after her. He saw where she was heading and he was not about to let her go over there without someone covering her ass.

"What are we all dumbasses today?" Turpin wondered in a mutter, from somewhere close to Maggie's elbow.

It wasn't a long distance and Lois covered it in a matter of seconds. She heaved the name-plaque and it bounced off the hellhound's snout without leaving a mark, but it jerked its head up. That was all the opening Lois needed and she slid in like a baseball player making a steal for home-plate, right in beside the dumbass kid.

"C'mon! Get up get up!" Lois ordered, digging her hands under his shoulders. He was shaking terribly. This close she could see his eyes and that there was barely any coherency in them; just a primal animal fear.

She felt the growl in her ribcage as opposed to hearing it and suddenly those gigantic teeth were inches from her head. Lois had never experienced the phrase "blood running cold" before, but she did now. It was like ice washing over her and the blood drained from her face in a rush, contrasting harshly with the immense heat radiating off the hellhound. It felt like it would burn her skin at this close distance.

 _Don't look up._ Lois told herself, staring at the quivering nose that was mere inches in front of her and the drill-bit teeth just a little few more inches down. _Most animals like dogs regard eye contact as threatening, so don't look up._

"Hey!"

Gordon's voice rang out, instantly followed by his SIG barking once. Lois jerked back and the bullet struck its target, right on the hellhound's nose. For once, it struck truly and there was squirt of hot blood from the sensitive tissue. The hellhound let out a wounded noise and flinched away from what probably amounted to a bee-sting, but a painful one all the same.

"Miss Lane, this is dangerous!" Gordon informed her once he had sprinted up to help her pull the kid out of biting range.

"Tell me something I don't know!" the reporter snarled back.

She heaved the poor bastard to his feet, more or less and dragged him back while Gordon kept his gun trained on the beast. It was pawing at the blood on its nose and shaking its head alternately.

Then it screamed.

Lois was pretty sure that the scream was supposed to have been a bark, but there was just no way this evil beast birthed from Satan's asshole could do anything like a conventional dog.

So it screamed like ten thousand wailing damned souls, spittle flying from its jaws. The hellhound reared its head back and its chest expanded like something was trying to push out of the cracked-lava skin and _-_ -

Spewed a horizontal tornado of flames.

"It breathes _fire_?!" Lois screamed. "That's not fair!"

"Get down!"

Turpin was on top of them, shoving them down out of the path of the traveling inferno.

 _We're too close._ Lois thought, already smelling the sulfur stink of burnt hair. _At least first degree burns._

The intensity heat seared over them and if it hadn't been for the fact that she was still wearing her winter coat, Lois might have felt the temperatures a little more keenly than she did.

The blaze only lasted three or four seconds, at most, but it could have been forever before it stopped. Instantly, Lois sprang to her feet without pausing to see if the coast was clear; the only thing she had on her mind was getting out of range of the _fucking fire-breathing hellhound_!

She was vaguely aware of Detective Turpin on one side and Detective Gordon on the other, with the dazed leader of the bomb squad (still clutching the black case full of alien super-virus) squished between them. Lois was slightly more aware of the horrified expressions on everyone else's faces ahead of them. They were frozen in that sort of post-mortem shock you only saw in corpses, except this lot was still alive.

In the second or two it took to get from their spot on the floor to the first row of desks, it occurred to Lois that no one had any idea what the hell they were supposed to do with a fire-breathing hellhound that must have just popped out of fucking thin air, for only the Devil himself knew where it had come from. They were police. They were used to operating on something that resembled a procedure. There were emergency drills that they ran at least bi-monthly. Especially the SCU, since they were supposed to be

the one to handle the weird shit.

But they had no idea what to do.

After all, this sort of weird shit had just never happened in Metropolis.

The hellhound screamed again, rearing its head back.

"Fire in the hole!"

And Officer Harper reappeared with the M32 grenade launcher he had grabbed from the armory downstairs. He was flanked by Officer Mills and Detective Marzan, both similarly outfitted. They wasted no time aiming and shot an incendiary grenade each as the hellhound's chest started to inflate again. Lois didn't waste the time looking over her shoulder to see what would happen next; she had seen explosions of that nature to paint a pretty accurate picture.

They dove behind the nearest desk and everybody else ducked.

The police-grade incendiary grenades were a little weaker than the military-grade, but there was still that outward blast of heat and an ear-drum rattling **BOOM!** that shook the floor. The hellhound screeched like nails on a chalkboard, thrashing in apparent pain. Fire crawled up the old wood-work, licking at the banners that hung strung over the reception desk.

They weren't winning this one any time soon.

"Evacuate the building, double-time!" Lieutenant Sawyer roared, performing a quick head-count to make sure everyone was there. Captain Jase had long since departed, which left nine people beside herself, then Officer Harper, Miss Lane, and the dumbshit kid. She made them all go past her first and fell in step beside Harper, who had kept a remarkably cool head through all of this.

"The bomb?" she inquired.

Harper shook his head. "It's fluctuating too much. Could go at any time."

 _Can't risk it._ Maggie nodded to herself, shoving Harper ahead of her as they hurried to the stairs.

Most of the others had gotten out the back door, which used to lead to the evidence warehouse before the damn thing had gotten half-blown up a few weeks ago. The city had simply pulled the rest of it down rather than waiting for the inevitable collapse. Some of the wall posts still remained where they had been anchored too firmly in the foundation to come down, but all that was really left was a three hundred foot square area of scorched concrete.

The SCU made their way unscathed down the empty street. Empty of pedestrians, at least. There were hastily abandoned cars and apparently people like to smash windows in for the hell of it. Otherwise, midtown Metropolis seemed to have all but cleared out in the last forty-five minutes; people fleeing for the outskirts of the city as fast as they could.

It was eerie to run down the streets when they were so quiet.

Two blocks away and around a corner, hopefully well out of the blast zone, they came to a halt, still warily watching the surrounding side-streets and even the sky. Lois knew they were looking for any sign of Superman to come flying to the assist, but at this point, she didn't have a whole lot of faith that her dad would actually do the right thing.

He had, after all, engineered a plan to make Metropolis burn.

"Here, set him down here." Sergeant Escudero instructed of Lois and Gordon, whom were still carrying the leader of the would-be bomb squad.

They set him down beside the steps to a building. The kid was limp between them, panting laboriously and his eyes roving and seemed to have no control over his legs anymore. He whimpered a little as he was lowered to the cold pavement, his arms locked tight around the case of virus.

Sergeant Escudero peeled off the knit balaclava, revealing that he was nothing more than a dumbshit teenager who had probably been given a pile of cash and a list of instructions. Maybe no more than seventeen or eighteen years old and milky-white across the everywhere.

"Pinche idiota." Sergeant Escudero muttered, shaking her head as she picked up his wrist to take his pulse. He wasn't very responsive, but he also wasn't showing the physical symptoms of shock, yet.

For now, he was just freaked out of his head.

"Lieutenant Sawyer, lobby for someone with more extensive medical training next!" she suggested, not for the first time.

"I know. Is everyone all right?" Lieutenant Sawyer asked, moving from officer to officer to check on them. They all had basic first aid training, but only Officer Mills had the training to do things like stitch wounds together and only because he was also a member of SWAT. What they really needed was a former first responder from the emergency services unit.

"Oh! Detective!" Lyle yelped, pointing at Turpin with one hand while the other still clutched the pilfered laptop.

"What?" Turpin blinked in confusion and then looked down to where the forensic specialist was pointing. Right at his shoulder where the suit had burnt clean through and the skin there was now a shiny red patch with blisters just starting to form. "Oh... Ooh, I'm gonna be feeling that when the adrenaline wears off."

"Dan _-_ -" Lieutenant Sawyer started worriedly.

She was interrupted by a **KR-BOOM** sound followed by a sound not unlike whistling fireworks. Without turning around, she could tell that there was a tower of smoke rising up from the ground two blocks away, judging from the way everyone's eyes traveled upwards.

"That was HQ, wasn't it." she commented.

"Yes." Detective Jones nodded.

"Everything was backed up on the main server, right? The one **not** located anywhere near the bomb site?"

"Except for everything from today, most likely."

"That's fine. I don't think it was that much we lost."

She said it to console herself, because they had actually lost a fair bit. The entire building and all the phsyical evidence. Most of it was either cold case or closed case, so losing it didn't cause too much of a problem. But they'd had a few active cases going on and losing all of the physical evidence was not going to help.

And the building.

They would get a new one; the SCU was a separate division no matter how many of their cases overlapped with other divisions. The new building would be something shiny and state of the art. But Maggie would miss the ambiance of the old court-house.

"Is anyone else hurt beside Turpin?" Lieutenant Sawyer asked, visually checking on her second in command. Turpin was still staring at his injured shoulder as though he was daring the burn to start hurting. The rest of them looked a tad dazed, but every murmur was generally a positive one.

"How's our person of interest?" the lieutenant asked, coming to check on the dumbshit teenager. Colletta followed her over and went to stand beside Lois, nudging the reporter companionably.

"He'll probably need to have a long talk with his parents and a lawyer and definitely a therapist, but he'll live otherwise." Gordon replied, kinking his neck this way and that as he spoke.

"Dumbass." Lieutenant Sawyer muttered, kneeling. "Lupe, help me get this out."

'This' was the black case. Between her and Sergeant Escudero, they freed it from the kid's vice-clamp grip and set it gingerly on the ground. There was a gentle slosh of liquid inside, but nothing prominent enough to suggest that any of the vials had cracked.

"I saw about two dozen vials when it was all still in the cabinet." Lois reported.

"Hopefully, they didn't make any stops before us." Colletta said softly.

"Let's find out." Lieutenant Sawyer undid the clasps and lifted the lid while her heart pounded in her throat. The tension was for nothing when she saw about two dozen vials of semi-cloudy liquid tucked into thick foam padding, all present and accounted for. Wherever the dumbshit kids had been going, the SCU had been their first stop.

Gordon whistled lowly. "One major disaster averted. Just the rest of the bombs to worry about." he said.

Then ten thousand damned souls screamed from just two blocks away.

Sergeant Escudero said something not fit for repeating.

Lois gritted her teeth. "Of course it's still alive. It couldn't be that easy to kill it."

Lieutenant Sawyer snapped the case shut and unthinkingly shoved it into Lois's arms before she turned around to address the rest of the SCU.

"Marzan, Mills, Harper! You've got the grenade launchers! Roast that bitch as soon as you see it! The rest of you find cover! Aim for the nose, the paws, the ears! Any time Fluffy opens his mouth, you put a bullet right down his throat!"

"If we were close enough to the rivers, I'd say drive it into the water." Gordon added, taking his SIG out of the holster.

Lieutenant Sawyer glanced over her shoulder at him and grinned. "Now that you mention it, we're not _that_ far from the river."

Although logistically speaking, it would be difficult to drive the hellhound clear up the street to the edge of the Siegel River without it figuring out their plan, if it was smart enough to reason. They were still a half-mile from the river-front and that was enough distance for something to go wrong. And they would certainly need heavier artillery than what they had.

But they didn't have the _time_ to worry about the logistics of anything. The hellhound was sprinting up the streets towards them, trailing streamers of fire. Lyle dove into the alleyway behind Lois, mumbling something about remote signals and ignition degradation, while she herself ducked down behind the stairs. Lieutenant Sawyer made a gesture that sent the rest of her team moving for cover behind the the overturned cars. Harper, Marzan, and Mills took up position in the middle of the road, the grenade launchers aimed at the swiftly approaching monster.

"Light it up!" Harper shouted.

 ***shunkPOMP!***

The grenades flew straight and true, but the hellhound detoured to one side, allowing the projectiles to shoot right past it. The hellhound snarled like a chainsaw and leapt, but not at the trio in the street. It leapt right over them and landed heavily, cracking the pavement. Those awful blood-red eyes zeroed in on Lois's ineffectual hiding spot and barely breaking stride, the hellhound changed direction on a dime and barreled right at the reporter.

 _Shit, is this three times in one day?_ Lois wondered while her legs worked on automatic. _I am really setting the record today._

She forgot there was a building almost directly behind her until she backed right into the wall and the hellhound charged at her, drill-bit teeth bared savagely and taloned paws stretching out to rend her flesh-

 ***Crunch!***

Lois didn't remember closing her eyes, but she opened them in time to see that the hellhound had dug its incisors into the black case she had been holding. She let go of it abruptly and wiped clean, dry hands up the brick wall behind her.

Then the beast slid _-_ \- _slid_ back several feet and it made a surprised noise from the back of its throat. Its claws gouged furrows into the concrete just inches from, but it made no headway. Immediately, Lois side-stepped out of the almost-corner and saw what had stopped the hellhound in its tracks (more or less) and couldn't help a bright smile.

"Superman!"

Superman had the hellhound by its hind-paws, specifically by the toes because they were the only part of the beast that was small enough to get his hands around adequately. He didn't look quite so great, Lois thought. He looked like he hadn't yet fully recovered from a bout of the flu and he certainly seemed to be straining to keep the monster from slipping out of his grip-

But just what the hell did it matter? He was here and that meant General Lane had miraculously found the balls to do the right thing. Superman was here, meaning their chances of dying had just lessened.

Superman threw his back into it, but it was a struggle to pull the hellhound off the ground. Even though the vague fatigue was fading from his limbs the longer he spent under the sun, he didn't feel back up to full strength yet.

Oh, but there was Lois. Alive and radiant and clearly delighted to see him, look at that smile.

He was just in the nick of time _-_ -

In his moment of inattention, his hand must have loosened a little. The devil dog jerked a foot free and donkey-kicked Superman in the chest, knocking him into the neighboring building. Then it leaned its head back and _swallowed_ the black case full of alien super-virus.

"Superman!"

Lois sprinted a wide berth around the hellhound to get to their rescuer (it didn't chase her). Superman was already extracting himself from a pile of concrete when she got there. Up close, he was definitely pale and obviously sweating.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"I'm fine." Superman grunted, getting upright.

"You sure?" Lois asked, since it sounded like a lie.

"I have to be." Superman replied. He inclined his head at the monster dog. "I think it got what it wanted."

Lois blinked. "The alien super-virus? What did it want with that?"

"Look at it." Superman said.

Lois did.

The hellhound had seated itself, head bowed and unmoving. But the cracks of its lava-bed skin had started to glow more brightly and fiercely red, like a warning sign on a rainy road. Staring at it, Lois had the terrible feeling she was standing in front of an armed nuclear warhead.

"I can see its stomach _-_ \- X-ray vision." Superman smiled briefly and tapped one of the orbital bones around his eyes. "It looks like an internal combustion engine in there. Everything's starting to mix. There's gas mixing with some kind of liquid. And the heat too. It internal body temperature is already past the boiling point. If it can ignite a spark _-_ -"

"It can breathe fire." Lois interrupted, and Superman blinked. "You're saying that thing itself is a bomb? No, of course it is, that's just how this day's been going!" she added, throwing up her hands in exasperated _done_.

"Someone is trying to make sure the job gets finished no matter what." Superman said, appalled at the lengths this third party was willing to go to (where the fuck had this monster even come from anyways?). "But if I can fly that thing high enough out of orbit, the virus won't have an atmosphere to disperse into."

"You sure about that?"

"Not really."

"So you're taking a gamble."

"Yep."

"You're probably going to die." Lois dryly. It was the only tone she could say it in because she sincerely doubted that even Superman could breathe in space.

He didn't look fussed about it, however. He just smiled that toothpaste-ad smile again and set a hand very gently on her shoulder. Despite the reassuring pressure he applied, there was something like uncertainy in his expression.

"It's what heroes do, Miss Lane." he said with a shrug, as if adding _'what can you do?'_

Then he stepped away, grabbed handfuls of the hellhound's glowing skin, and rocketed into the air, scattering the debris around them. Lois threw an arm over her face to protect herself from the dirt and grit his departure kicked up. That wailing thousand-damned-souls scream dopplered away and Lois saw the trail of fire that the beast spewed out behind it but Superman hit Mach 1 at two miles up, punching a hole through the thick cloud cover, and then swiftly picking up speed from there. Both he and the hellhound rapidly shrank into a pinprick against the parting clouds and vanished.

"Yes! Fuck you!" Lyle screamed triumphantly from the alleyway and killing any tension still left in the moment. "Your kung-fu is **not** strong! Just you _try_ setting off the rest of the bombs now motherfucker!"

"Lyle!" Lieutenant Sawyer snapped like a reprimanding parent.

"I just jammed the frequency, ma'am! They won't be able to remotely set off any more of the bombs! I'm gonna try and back-trace the signal and see where it came from!"

"Can you even do that from there?"

"My kung-fu is strong."

Lois watched the sky patiently as the clouds dispersed from Superman's passage, not turning away even as Colletta sidled up beside her with strangely cautious movements. It took a few minutes, but out above the atmosphere was nothing more than a flash of light, slightly bigger than sunlight gleaming off the underside of an airplane.

She smiled. "Well done." she said quietly.

And she wasn't the only one to see it.

It was strange that everyone in Metropolis looked up and knew what it was. Knew that it was their predicted doom exploding somewhere else. The people stuck on the bridges, trying to leave town, saw it. They cheered, throwing their hands up and dancing about. Plastered to the windows of the _Daily Planet_ , Perry White led a great roar of triumph, hugging the nearest person who stood still long enough. There were tears and laughter and relief and triumph.

In city hall, word trickled down from the Special Crimes Unit that the crisis had been averted and word came in from _other_ corners that the Army Guard branch had collared none other than Sofia Gigante as the individual responsible for master-minding this attack (Lyle's attempt to back-trace the signal would lead him on a merry chase through satellites and servers before landing somewhere in remote areas of Greenland)

Mayor Kovac heaved out a great sigh of relief and slumped back in her chair while her council clashed in life-affirming hugs, with more than one kiss on the cheek or the lips. The captain would not have to go down with this ship.

The City of Tomorrow would see another tomorrow.

Back out on the street, Lois watched the sky intently for any signs of Superman's return. He had done it. There was some cleaning up to do, but the city was still standing. He had saved the day and now it was time for him to get his butt back on the ground so Lois could do this thing properly and kiss him on the behalf of all the grateful citizens.

That was how this worked. That was how the hero-story ended. There had to be at least one adoring kiss before the credits rolled.

So what was keeping him?

But as five minutes turned into ten turned into twenty, the more it occurred to Lois that this was not going to be one of those feel-good endings. Maybe this was the sort of story where the hero didn't make it out alive.

Maybe there wasn't supposed to be a new age of superheroes.

* * *

-0-

yesterday i binge-watched the new episodes of voltron legendary defender omigod its so good


	41. The Day After

Penultimate chapter. It's been a ride, folks. Thank you for all the support; whether you reviewed, favorite'd, followed, or just read all the way from beginning to end. It means a lot.

Chapter 42 and the epilogue will be posted on Feb 8th.

* * *

Chapter Forty-One: The Day After

With the threat neutralized, the remaining bombs disarmed, and at least one of the perpetrators safely in custody, the police had been sent out to encourage people to return to their homes and their lives. The heavy equipment had been put out to clear the roads of scattered cars and debris. The streets were cleared by the following morning, but road travel was restricted to emergency vehicles for the time being. Nonetheless, the trains were running and people like shop owners came in to sweep up the broken glass and take stock of the damage.

It all could have been a lot worse than it actually was.

The day after events like a big snowstorm or a near-miss with an alien super-virus was always a strange day, as far as Maggie Sawyer was concerned. It was like they were still caught between the frightening strangeness of yesterday and the predictable normalcy of tomorrow.

But everywhere she looked, normal was taking over again. The _Daily Planet_ had still put out a morning edition (hours ahead of any of the other newspapers), with a by-the-numbers article that catologued full extent of structural damage and injuries and they had all been very pleased to relay the fact that the death toll was incredibly low for what had happened. The cafes were still serving breakfast. The post office was still running. Anyone who still had to work today was heading in.

The city couldn't just shut down when disaster hadn't even struck.

It was quite a different story inside law enforcement. Code Veitch had been called in with regards to whatever the fuck had gone down over at the crater that was now the SCU building. As it turned out, someone enterprising and glued to their phone had managed to get a few decent shots of the 'roided devil dog and they had swarmed the internet within an hour of the situation being resolved. Damage control was to be performed before the panic got out of hand and people started screaming about Hell's Gate a second time, but with no answers, no way of lying, and no actual office to work out of, Maggie had no idea what the commissioner expected her and the team to do.

The rest of of the Met P.D. had a slightly easier task: find out who had made the ultimatum video. Though Sofia Gigante had gleefully claimed responsibility for the whole shebang, she claimed to have no knowledge of who the others were. That they were hired goons, recommended to her through a third party.

The hospital had kept Turpin overnight for observation of the second-degree burn he had sustained yesterday and a sprained ankle he hadn't been aware of, what with all the adrenaline going around. He had been released not fifteen minutes ago with a clean bill of health and some heavy-duty painkillers. For obvious reasons, the doctor didn't want him driving around. With no cabs available, the nearest train station four blocks away, and his own car still parked beside the SCU crater, Maggie had decided to come pick him up herself.

The crisis averted and with a moment to breathe, it was time for them to talk.

Turpin was waiting just outside the hospital doors in half the clothes he had been wearing yesterday, but a different shirt. Maggie pulled up close to the curb and undid her seat belt to get out and help him, but Turpin heaved himself up off the bench to his feet and half-limped, half-staggered over to the car. He let himself in and all but fell into the passenger's seat.

"I was going to help." Maggie said.

"I had it." Turpin said shortly, arranging his legs in the footwell. He pulled the door shut. "Can you drop me off at my apartment? I'll change clothes and man the phones."

"There are no phones to man and you need to rest." Maggie told him sharply. "Your shoulder got pan-seared yesterday and you refused medical treatment for more than two hours."

"I don't see you resting." the detective pointed out, although quite aware that he hadn't gone to a paramedic until about three or four o'clock, when the burn had actually started to hurt. "Some serious shit went down yesterday, I want to be on top of it."

"You can be on top of it from your couch. We'll keep you in the loop, but I want you to stay home."

"Is that an order, Lieutenant?"

He sneered it. He goddamn sneered her rank. A burst of anger hit Maggie like a firework and her fingernails dug into the steering wheel. She forced herself to take a breath and then another. Turpin was building up resentment like a head of steam. He was still mad at her and maybe he had a right to be, but this had gone on long enough. They were never going to talk about it unless she forced the matter.

"I wasn't required to tell you!" she shouted angrily, glaring at her second-in-command. "There is no rule enforcing the idea that I had to tell you my sexual orientation! There's no reason to get mad at me for being a lesbian! I didn't get mad at you for being straight, did I?"

Turpin flinched and to Maggie's relief, the strange expression of sneering resentment vanished from his face, replaced by a kind of chastisement. He looked away, biting his lip.

The source of the recent strife had sprung from a misunderstanding and a miscommunication. Maggie knew that she was an attractive woman. Enough people had told her as much over the years and she wasn't so low on self-esteem that she couldn't admire herself in the mirror from time to time. Turpin had nursed an attraction to her for several months, asking her out on dates that weren't really dates; runs for coffee, dinners at two in the morning, that sort of thing. The problem was that while Turpin had considered them of a romantic courting nature, Maggie had not interpreted the "dates" that way. She had believed they were just doing the sorts of things that friends did. Co-workers who saw more of each other than anyone else, so they might as well learn to get along. Superior officer and second-in-command learning how to cooperate together so as to lead an effective team.

Maggie didn't advertise the fact she was a lesbian - a result of pretending otherwise for fifteen years. Struggling to deny it as a means of fitting into the slot that her family had carved out for her. She had pulled herself out of that box only a few years ago and was still feeling her way around.

"Sorry." Maggie said softly, loosening her grip on the steering wheel. "I'm sorry, I spent _years_ closeted. I was that good little Catholic girl who was expected to make a good little Catholic marriage. Repress every thought of sinning and the devil and let me tell you, my parents had some funny ideas about how good little Catholic girls were supposed to live their lives.

"It was one of those things where I figured it out in high school, but I hit denial running because Catholic girls like me with the hardcore Catholic parents weren't supposed to have thoughts like that. So I grew up, pretended men were attractive, and practically married the first guy to look twice at me."

She heard the seat creak as Turpin shifted, which meant he was listening, and felt emboldened enough to go on.

"Captain James Cassidy, Star City P.D., my superior and Catholic boy extraordinaire. My parents loved him. He was everything they wanted for me and I swore up and down that I loved him. We dated for two years, then got married and started fighting all the time. I can't even remember why; I think we just rubbed each other the wrong way. I wasn't much of an active sex partner either."

"Can't imagine why." Turpin muttered, barely audible.

Maggie smirked a little. "Admitting it to myself was hard enough. I lived in this fussy little neighborhood where 'gay' is a swear word and there was no way I could find a support group for coming out of the closet without someone finding out. I had to come out to my entire family **and** James's just to explain why I wanted to seek an anullment. Imagine telling your dirtiest little secret to the people who have spent their entire lives putting it through your head that your dirty little secret will not just get you disowned, but you'll be regarded as something less than a human being, oh, and you'll custody of your child too."

Turpin looked at her in alarm. "You have a kid?!"

"Sex happens." The lieutenant nodded, taking out her phone automatically to find some pictures. "Jamie. She's six going on seven. When she was born, I thought it would turn the marriage around, but you know what they say. Don't expect a baby to fix the marriage. James and I just kept fighting. Jamie just became my excuse to avoid him." she explained. "When I finally went for an anullment, James found I swear _the most_ homophobic judge I've ever met to oversee the custody arrangement. I'm still fighting for visitation rights. Here."

She selected the most recent picture of Jamie (courtesy of her brother) and showed it to Turpin. Her bulldog of a second-in-command softened visibly and made a cooing noise. Maggie smirked. Her daughter was one of those cute little buttons, having gotten the best from both parents. Strawberry blonde hair, a snub nose, big brown eyes, and a never-ending "boys are icky" stage. Todd had reported back that Jamie found the idea of compulsive heterosexuality to be very limiting, making her one of the more worldly six-year olds that Maggie had the pleasure of knowing.

It was the other reason that Maggie had kept the custody battle going over the last three years. If her husband's filial love was overcome by his own prejudices, then Jamie wasn't stuck in a house with a man who thought other men who smiled at each other were hella gay.

"Then, if you can believe it, James went off and remarried about a year and a half ago, which has basically killed my chances of any form of long-term custody, for the moment I'm hoping... But a mommy and a daddy _somehow_ creates a more stable home-life than two mommies.

"To be fair, there's no guarantee that my relationship with Lori is going to last long-term, but that only suggests a single mother can't possibly raise a child to be well-adjusted, which is another one of those guns that James sticks to."

"What an asshole." Turpin grumbled, sounding quite angry on her behalf.

Maggie nodded in agreement. "Insidious homophobia, that's my excuse. What's yours?"

"Situational blindness." Turpin grunted. He threw up the only arm that could rise above his head in a gesture of exasperation. "I'm a detective, Maggie, and a damn good one. Three years we've known each other and you think I would have picked up on it a lot sooner that you're gay! Do you know how pissed I am at myself?!"

Half a snort escaped up Maggie's throat and she pressed her lips shut before it could turn into a honking laugh, but there was no hiding her amused smile. She knew Turpin had been angry upon discovering that she was not, in fact, heterosexual, but she had figured that the anger was been directed at her, like usual.

But nah, he was angry at himself because he was supposed to be more observant and discerning.

"You know how many red flags I didn't see? You flirt with Kanigher all the time and I _know_ she's bisexual! For crying out loud, you live on St. Martin's Island! _St. Martin's_! The biggest queer community in the entire city and you live right in the middle of it!" Turpin pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oy vey iz mir... You're a lesbian... How did I miss that until it was right in front of me?..."

"Because it didn't occur to you to look. I spent half my life pretending to be straight." Maggie pointed out, still trying not to laugh. "Girlfriend or not, I'm still only just this side of comfortable of saying it out loud."

She wanted to be braver about it, now that society wasn't piling on the stigma as sharply as it used to. People in higher places than her were slowly admitting to being gay or bi or trans or anything else, meaning it was starting to look _okay_ and _acceptable_. Meredith Furie, the CEO of Atlas Industries, had used her first ever interview to step right out of the closet with nary a second of hesitation, though people veered between praising her forwardness and dissing her for the same reason.

Colletta didn't seem entirely aware that there was any closet at all. She had been a beautiful bisexual butterfly from day one.

Turpin huffed out a heavy sigh. "Sorry. For putting it on you like that. Or making it seem like I was putting it on you." he half-corrected. He glanced at her almost shyly. "You've got every right to be angry at me."

"No, no, I'm swimming in heteronormativity as it is." Maggie pointed out. She could walk into a very gay bar and still get asked what a straight girl like her was doing there. "I'm not mad at you, Dan. I think you were disappointed with yourself for long enough. I'm not going to throw away the three years we've been good friends just because you had a crush on me. Now I might rub it in a little... Fair warning."

"I deserve every second of it for being a presumptuous gremlin." Turpin declared gruffly. Then he smiled, one corner of his mouth turning out. "You can toilet paper my house."

Maggie found herself sniggering as the tension dissolved, knowing that things were back to normal between them. Well, _almost_ normal, but it was a change she could live with.

* * *

On average, Lois never got quite enough sleep. Or at least it _felt_ like she never got enough sleep. There was always writing to be done. Whether it was thieves stealing copper wire or man-hole covers, or drunk idiots playing chicken with speedboats in Hob's Bay, there was always a story to cover and Lois considered herself the woman for the job. She could operate on five hours and a cup of coffee, even if those five hours were spread out over the course of forty-eight. Her lack of sleep was mostly self-inflicted, she would admit that much.

And then there were the times that Perry called Lois in before she had gotten an adequate amount of sleep, and the day after the Near-Apocalypse of '06 was one of them (that's what people would start calling it in the future, when they learned just how far-reaching the consequences would have been).

Perry had been grasping at a thin straw on Tuesday morning when he'd called Lois's building supervisor and asked the man to check on her. As only one body had been recovered from the scene of the helicopter crash and Superman had indeed been sighted in the area, he'd known all along that there was a slim chance that Lois had somehow lived through yesterday's clusterfuck. He'd been pleased as fuck to discover she had made it out alive after all. Then it was all 'get your butt downtown, there's work to be done'.

Even though the trains were running, Lois didn't have a rail card anymore. Well, not at the moment. The Metro-Metro issued a new rail card to subscribers on the first of every month, so she would get the new card in just two days.

So she pulled her bike out of winter storage and fished an old drawstring bag out of the back of her coat closet to carry her things in. It wasn't the best weather to be biking in, but she also didn't start the day with the means to buy a rail pass. There was just no point in general since the new card would come in the mail by Friday morning.

The trains were indeed running, but in lite mode, meaning they weren't hitting every stop and people were waiting longer than usual to catch a ride into New Troy. Even with the two detours that Lois had made to the bank and the DMV, her 9:30 arrival at the _Daily Planet_ passed largely unnoticed due to the fact that everyone else was just getting in too.

She left her bike in the designated racks at the back of the lobby and rode the elevator up to the food court and detoured for a cup of coffee, and then resumed her trip to the fifty-seventh floor. The newsroom hummed even more loudly than normal with the reporters gleefully exchanging their own stories about what had happened to them yesterday. She avoided her desk for the moment and made straight for Perry's office.

"Knock-knock, chief!" Lois called out, rapping lightly on the door-frame. "Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated!"

Perry jumped a little and then turned away from the window where he must have been ruminating. He stared at her like he was still trying to figure out if she was actually there. After a moment, his face relaxed into a rare smile.

"Glad they're exaggerated." he said, beckoning for her to come in. "Wouldn't want to lose my ace reporter before her career takes off."

"Death and me don't see eye-to-eye." Lois commented, closing the door behind her. "Don't ask me how I survived, seriously." she added, seeing the question forming on the editor's lips. "Did you get my email?"

"The one you sent me at five this morning? Thought I was getting an email from a ghost 'til I saw the attachment." Perry said, coming around from the other side of the desk. "I'd ask how you'd stayed on top of the story in the middle of all that, if it wasn't something you did all the time."

Lois grinned. "Talent and skill, chief. And lethal amounts of dumb luck." she replied. She had spent the rest of the afternoon and half the night typing out yesterday's events while they were all still fresh in her mind, everything from the discovery of Dr. Essex's alien super-virus right up to Superman disappearing into the atmosphere with fire-breathing devil dogs. "Is it a shoe-in for the front page?"

"Does the pope shit in the woods?"

Lois had a sudden mental image of a big grizzly bear in papal robes.

"Blasphemy, chief."

"That means 'yes', Lois." Perry assured her. "Mr. Edge wants it on the front page so bad that if I **didn't** run it on the front page, he'd probably fire me."

"Good to know I have job security." Lois nodded. She settled herself into one of the chairs. "So. What now?"

"We get _the_ story." the editor replied confidently. "World's talking, Lois. Hundreds of questions, no answers. I want you to find them for me."

"You mean Superman." Lois realized.

"Exactly!" Perry slapped his desk with an open palm. "I feel like we have a claim to the Superman story. That's not arrogance or supposition. It was _our_ city, _our people_ , _you_ , where Superman first came to the rescue! We're the ones who gave him the name that everyone knows. The world wouldn't _know_ Superman without us."

 _It sounds like arrogance._ Lois thought blandly.

"Therefore," Perry went on. "It falls to us here at the _Daily Planet_ to keep delivering the story that we started. We began this and we will finish it. We need to dig deep and find out where he's gotten off to."

"Last I saw him, he was heading up into orbit." Lois said, pointing in the direction of the sky. "Chief, I'd hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I don't think he's coming back."

Perry blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Well..." Lois shrugged, trying to find the words for why she thought that way. "He flew an explosive monster dog out into orbit. He said he was going to get it high enough so the vaporized virus would have no chance of dispersing through the atmosphere, so we're probably talking all the way out into the exosphere which is anywhere between four hundred and eight hundred miles up, and there isn't exactly much breathable air out that far _-_ -"

"Lois _-_ -" Perry interjected.

"And then he _didn't come back-_ \- Seriously, I waited for nearly two hours and I didn't see so much as a goddamn shooting star _-_ -"

"Clouds, Lois. The _clouds-_ -"

"I know!" Lois thumped her fists on the arms of the chair and recoiled her left hand instantly. "Ow. But he's not coming back from this one. It wasn't gonna go the way we all thought it would. No new age of superheroes in our lifetime."

"We don't know that." Perry said patiently. He had **some** faith, at least. Clearly someone needed to. "Not yet, so finding out for certain is imperative and that's what I want you to do. Kent's already on it _-_ \- Don't groan, Lois. You don't hate him."

"I don't." Lois agreed, rubbing her forehead. "But that doesn't mean it's the other way around."

She wasn't actually certain that Clark hated her, but she hadn't given him much of a reason to like her back. Not after the way she'd thrown her insecurities in his face, ultimately refused to tell him anything regarding her personal life, and accused him of being ignorant _of_ said personal life.

They might have gotten off to an okay start at the beginning of October, but things had fallen apart.

They always did, for Lois.

"That box of chocolates on your desk suggests otherwise." Perry said. "Look, I normally try not to get involved in the interpersonal affairs of my staff, but you two have good chemistry and you make excellent partners. I don't want to lose that just because you two are experiencing petty relationship drama that can be resolved with a simple conversation."

Lois shrugged. "If you say so."

"I do." The editor nodded. "I think you two just need to clear the air. You'd be amazed at the kind of results you'd get just by opening a dialogue."

His ace reporter made a disbelieving noise that didn't quite match the expression on her face. Lois tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair in a manner that was almost impatient, as though she was waiting for her head to catch up with her heart. Clark was a good guy. He really did not deserve to be shouted at for _being_ a good guy. That was like demanding that the lake to be something other than wet (or frozen).

"There's really a box of chocolates on my desk?" she asked.

Perry nodded. "With your name on it."

Lois heaved out a sigh. Clark wanted to apologize for the things _he_ had said to her on Thanksgiving and he was following all the advice Colletta had given him. He had waited the requisite twenty-four hours until Lois didn't feel quite so murderous and she would bet it was caramel chocolate that he had picked up.

It was another way of saying that he wanted to talk.

If had gone through the trouble getting chocolate for her, the least she could do was hear him out.

Then maybe she could swallow her pride, apologize to Clark, and pray to god that he took it.

"I'll get back to you on that Superman business, chief." Lois said, standing up.

"Don't get back to me until you've sorted things with Kent." Perry corrected, as he sat down. "I won't assign you two as partners anymore if you really _can't_ get along, but you do want my honest opinion, Lois?"

"Hit me."

"You're just being stubborn because you like him."

Lois felt like she should argue that point, because if that wasn't the most _middle school_ logic she had ever heard... It was such a simple summation of a situation that she was probably making too much out of and it was _painfully_ true. She wasn't used to _liking_ people because it seemed like they always turned out to be assholes and Clark was so far from an asshole it was actually a little uncomfortable to dislike him.

There was a guy she could easily imagine being friends with for the rest of her life. She could totally get behind platonic intimacy with him.

Perry saw it all over her face and smiled smugly, going as far as to lean back in his chair and lace his fingers together like everything was going according to plan.

"Keep your ears open for the fall-out." Lois warned, still half-convinced the ensuing encounter would end poorly.

"Happily." the editor said.

Lois made her way back across the newsroom, cutting around the outskirts by the windows so she didn't have to run into too many people on the way to her desk. Enough people as it was performed double-takes at her after a casual glance and she smirked at everyone who gaped in confusion as to why she was walking around.

"Lookin' good, Lois!" Lombarde bellowed from his corner of the newsroom, without any trace of sarcasm or sexual innuendo for once.

She grinned a little wider. _Day's startin' to look up already._

And it even got a little better when she arrived at her desk, for there was indeed a box of chocolates there along with another bouquet of a dozen yellow roses. The box was from Fudge Yourself up in Hamstead so it **had** to be caramel chocolates

The other thing was that Clark did not look up to getting into any sort of fight whatsoever. He was sprawled across his desk and his chair in the best visual representation of "bleh" she had ever seen. Legs thrown up over the top of the desk, arms dangling over the sides of the chair, the chair itself tilted as far back as it would go even though he was slouched so far down he was practically falling off the seat.

His state of dress left a great deal to be desired too. The tie was only halfway around his neck, like he had done the knot and then given up on the whole thing as a bad job. His suit jacket needed ironing and his dress shirt appeared to be on inside out. Hair uncombed, a bit of stubble decorating his chin, and dark circles under his eyes like he had gotten even less sleep than Lois. Most tellingly, however, was the splint that covered one wrist and part of his hand, and the bandages peeking out from beneath the other sleeve.

He honestly looked like someone might have tried to mug with him with their car.

"Jeezus Smalllville, what the hell happened to you?" Lois wondered, dropping her bag on the chair.

Clark brought his head forward, blinking wearily in partial confusion as though he wasn't quite sure how he had gotten all the way from his apartment to work.

"The better question is what didn't happen." he mumbled in reply. He had been electrocuted, suffocated, set on fire, plummeted to earth, and had somehow survived body-smacking into the water somewhere in the south Atlantic. If Dr. Sullivan hadn't turned up to help him limp home, he wasn't sure which continent he might have washed up on.

Of course, he couldn't be that specific in front of Lois.

"Did you get into a fight?" the dark-haired woman asked, putting her hands on her hips. "Did you lose?"

"Nope." Clark mustered up a weary grin. "You should see the other guy."

He wasn't sure when all the soreness and the weird rashes would clear up or when his wrist would stop hurting (once they had lost the gravity, the devil dog had tried very hard to wrench itself free and he must have pulled something trying to keep a grip on it), but the important thing was that he was alive.

"Well, for winning, you look like the pancaked remains of that chopper crash I was nearly in." Lois commented, starting to take off her coat. "You should go home, really. Just because I come in with a broken wrist _-_ -"

"Sprained."

"Sprained wrist doesn't mean you have to."

"Apology accepted, Ms. Lane."

Lois jumped, dropping her coat.

"Wha _-_ \- No, I didn't say anything! You didn't let me say anything to that effect!" she complained.

"You didn't have to." Clark said, shrugging. If she really had still been angry at him, she wouldn't have inquired after his well-being, in her own way.

"No, you have to let me do it properly!" Lois snapped, shaking a finger at him. "I owe you an explanation! The last four days have been incredibly sucky, yesterday notwithstanding, and everyone's looking at us!"

Indeed, everyone was. Some were pretending to be pre-occupied with their business, but others weren't nearly so subtle. Clark scowled internally. He understood that they were all reporters here, but honestly, couldn't they at least have the decency to ignore someone's personal problems?

"Maybe they'll see something different this time." Clark offered. Because maybe it was high time they all had the chance to see who Lois Lane really was.

Lois seemed to have entirely different thoughts on the matter. She gave her fellow reporter an aggrieved look like he had just robbed her of the chance to request that they go find a more private corner. She huffed out a sigh, but decided that it would be better to rip it off like a band-aid and get it over with.

"I don't like my dad." she started. "Well, we don't get along and Mom always said was it because we were too much alike. Sometimes I think it's because I'm actually too much like Mom's side of the family. The Sullivans and the Lanes are incompatible and we only ever met on the holidays and we were too proud to be the first to leave, so I had some pretty shitty family get-togethers.

"Anyways, Dad doesn't communicate like the rest of us humans and I can't talk to him without feeling pissed off and seeing all that Christmas card yuletide log bullshit going on over Thanksgiving kind of... I'm sorry. You didn't know the situation and you didn't deserve to have me scream at you for your own ignorance."

"And?" Clark prompted. He was sure there was something else.

Lois sighed. "I'm a disaster of a human being."

"No, you're not." Clark corrected, shaking his head. "Despite the environment you grew up in, I think you're still a good person deep down _-_ -"

"Oh! _-_ \- No, no, you're wrong there. I am not a good person." Lois asserted, moving like she was about to snap a Z. "I steal everyone's staplers and stomp all over Metropolis's trespassing laws _-_ \- And honestly, they're really badly worded anyways - and you don't want to _know_ the number of people I've pissed off over the last few years, not to mention the people I'm blackmailing _-_ -"

"Everyone has their faults." Clark interrupted, trying to shut down her self-deprecating rant.

"Have you noticed how many of my faults are worse than other people's? Apparently _your fault_ is being too nice for your own good _-_ -"

"You're intelligent, driven, independent, and fearless. How is that a bad thing?"

Lois had no reply to that question and her jaw clacked shut. She had grown up halfway in a world where people kept telling her that women weren't supposed to be intelligent or driven or fearless. That she would only be valued for her looks or her eligibility as a wife and mother; people had been shoving that in her face the last few days. And she was self-aware enough to admit that she responded to such commentary by being even louder and more obnoxious than usual.

"It's not a bad thing." Clark told her. "I've always thought they were good qualities for a woman to have. Especially for a reporter. Didn't you tell me that a reporter had to be tough and fearless or no one would take them seriously?"

"You're doing it again." Lois said flatly.

"Doing what?"

"Throwing my own words back at me."

Clark shrugged. "Well, they're good words, Ms. Lane."

Lois's smile was slow to come on, but it was genuine. "Wow. You really _are_ a rare gentleman, Smallville."

"And you're blackmailing people?" Clark asked, not about to let that one slip by without comment.

Lois's smile turned downright Grinchy, that curling smile that seemed to go right up to her eyes and put a twinkle in them that didn't seem entirely sane.

"For information on committing white-collar crime and what Luthor gets up to in a week. Rumors in the LexCorp pipeline. I'm holding their dirty little secrets over their heads so they keep me in the loop." she explained.

 _Lois, you are brutal._ Clark thought, discomforted by the idea that his fellow reporter actually resorted to blackmail. He was a bit alarmed to find himself wondering who these people were and what she had on them.

"I'm starting to understand better why people are scared of you." he commented.

"Hey, sometimes respect through fear is the only way a girl can get on in the world." Lois pointed out, shrugging. She reached out to slap his arm companionably, but stopped when she took stock of his pathetic condition again, so she merely patted his bicep gently. Then she said: "I'm not a people person, you know."

Clark nodded. "I did figure that out."

"And I haven't used the word 'friend' since middle school and I don't know how you managed to wiggle past all of my defenses anyways." Lois added, her face crinkling suspiciously. "For serious, Smallville. You're the first person since Colletta that I've let in this far."

"Ah, I think I've got a ways to go before I get as far as Colletta." Clark pointed out. And he sincerely doubted that he would really get _that_ far considering what bits of him didn't work the way you'd expect. "Still, if it's all the same to you, I'd like to use the word 'friend'."

The smile that lit up Lois's face was brilliant, bold, beautiful, and exactly everything Clark had come to like about her. This was the start of something great, something that would define a generation. Clark didn't know yet what he and Lois might become, but he was very much looking forward to finding out.

* * *

-0-


	42. The Only Place to Call Home

Chapter Forty-Two: The Only Place to Call Home

A high-pressure system moved in over the course of Tuesday, chasing away the clouds and the snow. Wednesday was sunny again, but it was still very much winter around these parts and the temperatures plummeted at night in the absence of the insulating layer of cloud cover. The windchill brought the thermometer down even further until it was in the single digits. It was no night to be out on the town and everyone knew it. Those who could turned up the heat and cuddled with significant others. Some didn't have a choice because of their jobs or circumstances.

And others were Lois Lane.

She really should have been at home in her pajamas, chasing down internet rumors of Superman's survival; it looked like there was _something_ _-_ \- meteors over the south Atlantic. Instead, she was bundled up her winter coat and her thickest socks and braving the bitter night air. Chemical heat packs tucked into strategic locations under her coat kept her outsides warm while a thermos of coffee did the same for her insides.

Lois was huddled on a bench in the mis-named Oceanside Park. Mis-named as St. Martin's Island sat squarely in the junction of the Carter and Siegel Rivers and Metropolis was about a thousand-plus miles from the Atlantic, but someone must have liked the sound of it. She had tucked herself in the shadow of the massive ferris wheel that dominated the waterfront. It was the most distinctive structure on St. Martin's Island. It was so towering that she could see it from her Pelham apartment.

There was a reason she was hanging out in the closed-for-the-season park after dark on one of the coldest nights of the year and it had everything to do with the curious note she had found on her desk just before she had signed off this afternoon.

' _Oceanside Park, ten o'clock tonight. If you want first scoop.'_ the note had read in beautiful calligraphic handwriting. The kind of handwriting that might have earned a place in a museum; it was that much of a work of art.

But it wasn't the handwriting that had caught her attention. It was the fact the note had been signed 'Superman'.

"I'd be dumb not to follow that lead down to its conclusion." Lois muttered, taking another sip of coffee.

Was he actually going to let her have first scoop?

Normally, Lois wouldn't have cared. Getting to the story first was what every reporter lived for and one couldn't have too many scruples about how they managed that. In the end, having a big fat story for tomorrow's paper usually took priority over whatever laws they might have trod on in the process.

The best reporters who sought first scoop spent a night in jail here and there. Lois herself was no stranger to the downtown lock-up.

Though she had been tasked with getting an interview with their elusive and mysterious savior of Metropolis, Superman, there were other reporters who didn't have her integrity and if given the opportunity, they **would** out-scoop her.

And Superman... Well, he was the hottest story of the year. And there wasn't much time left in the year to get that Big One. He could have approached any reporter with years more experience and enough integrity that they didn't walk all over Metropolis's somewhat loose trespassing laws. Any reporter in it for the thrill of the chase would have wet their panties for an opportunity like this one.

She almost wanted to wonder if the note had been placed on the wrong desk, because this was really too good to be true.

It gave her massive amounts of glee, however, to believe that he had written the note and that he would show up, alive and well.

"I hope this isn't a hoax." Lois muttered over the rim of the thermos. "That would be just thing. Lombarde or Osborne or Hunter make up a fake note and get me all the way out here to have a laugh at my expense."

"I certainly hope not." said a deep baritone voice that sent a shiver down Lois's spine. She raised her head slowly to the source of voice and sucked in a deep steadying breath.

Superman was descending out of the sky, just as Lois had imagined, like some majestic vision of body-building. He touched down and walked over. The crimson cape rippled out behind him and the lights gleamed off his black hair, highlighting the faintest of blue-ish tints.

It was occurred to Lois, distantly, that this was the first time she had seen Superman really put his feet on the ground and do something as simple as _walk_. Now granted, the other few times they had come face to face, he had been putting his feet on the ground, but only to stand.

But in this moment, he walked.

He walked lightly, as though his feet weren't quite touching the ground. There was a sense that gravity just couldn't hold him to the earth even when it wanted to. Nonetheless, it was a powerful stride that said this was a man who knew exactly where every inch of his body was. He knew every cord of muscle and he knew how to make every single one of them work in just the right way.

 _It's like everything he does is just glorious._ Lois thought, her eyes dropping to the man's sleek, corded thighs. _He's alive and I'm mooning over him and I don't think I care._

"I did write the note myself, so I'm certain this isn't a hoax." Superman added with a broad white smile that made her blood run a little quicker.

"You're alive!" Lois squawked, the words jumping out past her shock.

Superman nodded. "Yes."

"How...?" Lois wondered. She shuffled towards him a few steps and had to temper the desire to stroke his abs.

"Well, it was a bit touch and go for the first four hundred miles, but things cleared up once I got down out of the thermosphere." he said, shrugging. For a second, he looked impossibly familiar to Lois's eyes.

The familiarity was gone as quickly as it had come.

"That's impressive." she said vaguely. "Okay, then!" Lois dug the recorder out of her coat pocket (she had borrowed Clark's). "Did you actually come here because you wanted to give me first scoop or just to tell me that you were alive?"

"Both, honestly. You would have asked for the time, anyways. And you already have a reputation for being trustworthy, Miss Lane." Superman told her. "I needed to speak to someone who would give me a fair chance to tell my story and not warp the words. Your name came up."

"Right... That's flattering. Who's got that much faith in me? I've climbed security fences for the full story. Never mind." Lois waved a hand and clicked the recorder on. She checked the battery life to make sure there was plenty. She had placed fresh batteries in just a few hours ago, but sometimes the display went wonky. Clark had had this one for a while.

"That and I imagined you were worried about me." Superman added, looking contrite. "I'm sorry I didn't show up sooner, but after I hit the south Atlantic, I wasn't in much state to even fly on my own."

Lois felt her face color pink. She cleared her throat loudly.

"Alright, let's get this started. Now I might already know some of the answers, but humor me. So, where are you from?"

"Krypton."

"What, you're Greek?"

"No, Krypton was a planet twenty-seven light-years from Earth in the constellation Corvus. It orbited a red dwarf star alongside three other planets; two of them were gas giants."

 _Planet?..._

If there was one thing Lois disliked about words, it was how easily they could be made to sound convincing. The right tone, the right expression, and any words could sound like the gospel truth.

 _Planet?_

Lois wouldn't lie. She hadn't actually absorbed the idea that Superman was an alien, because it was just too insane to believe out of hand. Therefore, she had expected to hear some pedestrian-sounding small town name like Airville, Pennsylvania or the insulting type of who thought that would be a good name like Jackass Flats, Nevada.

Maybe Typo, Kentucky, or even Smallville, Kansas.

 _Planet?!_

She might have killed to hear Smallville, Kansas instead.

"Kryp _-_ \- Krypton is a _planet_?..." she sputtered, disbelieving. "In outer space?"

"I don't think it would have fit anywhere else." Superman said without a trace of anything that might indicate he was having her on. In fact, he sounded so sincere that Lois's knee-jerk reaction was to believe him instead of questioning everything from his sanity to how real his muscles were.

She stayed silent for a very long moment, trying to digest the words. It was a landmark achievement to render her speechless for more than two seconds and it was something that no one yet at the _Planet_ had accomplished (Clark Kent wasn't aware of this little competition and he wasn't the type to gloat anyways so the crown would go unclaimed for the foreseeable future).

"What you're saying _-_ \- What you're telling me _-_ \- is that you're _-_ \- you're not _-_ \- You're not human?" Lois asked, the words staggering out of her mouth in contrast to her usual snappy delivery.

Superman shrugged. "Not the last time I checked."

"You're an _-_ \- alien. An extra-terrestrial from _-_ \- up there?" She pointed straight up.

"More like over there." Superman corrected, pointing to the southern horizon.

"Don't be a smartass." Lois said, scowling. Ah, there was her sharp tongue. It had gotten lost for a moment. "But you're saying you're an alien."

"Yes, Miss Lane. I'm not from this planet. I'm an extraterrestrial being from a planet called Krypton." Superman assured her patiently. She would probably say it a few more times until it sunk in.

"You're an alien." Lois repeated.

He nodded.

"Your massive hunk of impressive muscles and majestic hair is a product of alien DNA?" Lois asked.

"Yes, it would seem that way." Superman said, trying not to chuckle. He thought: _Impressive muscles and majestic hair? Is that what you think of me?_

Lois reached out and poked him on the arm.

Superman couldn't tell if she was relieved or disappointed that he was actually very solid and for her part, Lois couldn't either.

"Well, I guess I have to accept the fact that you **are** standing here." she said. "But whether you're an alien or a not-so vanilla mortal is still up for debate. Not by me, but there are people who won't believe it. You look too human to be alien."

"You look too Kryptonian to be human." Superman countered.

Lois blinked. That was actually kind of a good point. Years of watching low-budget sci-fi shows where all the aliens were strangely human-like had made her rather opposed to the idea that a _real_ alien would actually resemble a human. Considering that she had never met another alien, it had never bothered to occur to her that perhaps an alien species might also find the upright bipedal configuration to be an evolutionary advantage as well.

"It's just _-_ \- There's no proof. In all of recorded history on this entire planet, no one has reliably confirmed the existence of extraterrestrial life. And you," She pointed at him again. "Here you are telling me that you're from a planet called... Krypton?"

"Yes." Superman nodded. "I know it sound like a lot to take in. But it's a big universe, Miss Lane. It's too arrogant to assume that humankind is the only life out there."

Lois laughed the sort of laugh people gave when they had no other way of reacting to anything. The sort of laugh that existed to fill what would otherwise be an awkward silence. The laugh that existed when there was no available counter-argument.

Because humankind was confined to this one planet that already seemed too small for the seven billion plus people living on it. They had barely explored the length and breadth of their own solar system. To quote a wise man: "Space is big. You just won't believe how vastly, hugely, mind-bogglingly big it is." There was so much vastness out there and all of it was unexplored by their little fragile bipedal selves. It was arrogance to say that they were the only life in their circle of nine planets ( _Nine, thank you very much._ Lois had to add, even to herself. _Pluto is still a fucking planet_ ).

Her laughter sobered up quickly as this train of thought went across her mind. Superman **could** be an alien. For real, a proper alien. There might be some science to prove it. If he was an alien...

 _Crap, I might owe Smallville another cookie_.

"Okay, you're an alien. Wow." Lois was going to have to accept that as the truth because he wasn't telling her anything else. "Now... You've been referring to Krypton in the past tense. Actually, Dr. Essex was too."

"Krypton was destroyed over two decades ago. My people tried to solve an energy crisis by harvesting the core." Superman confirmed. "To the best of my knowledge, however, I am only one of three survivors to have made it to Earth."

"One of three?" Lois repeated.

"Dr. Essex, obviously. Nam-Ek. And _-_ -" Superman hesitated for a moment. "My grandfather. I'd appreciate it it you kept that one off the record, Miss Lane. I don't want people to know about him."

Lois nodded. "So what exactly happened to the planet? How did you three get to be the only sure survivors?"

"The governing body didn't believe that the planet was in danger and when they said so, everyone blindly believed them. My father figured it out first, but his findings were dismissed as fear-mongering." Superman explained. "Only a few people took his words to heart. I don't know who might have made it off the planet before it collapsed on itself or who wasn't even on the planet, so I can only confirm three survivors. And Dr. Essex isn't around anymore."

Lois whistled in fear and awe. "Wow, and I thought our government was full of idiots." she muttered. "So, no family? It's just you?"

"For now, it seems that way." Superman said.

"That's depressing. And you're here on Earth because it was the closest inhabitable planet with an atmosphere you could survive in." Lois surmised. "Is that what I should be getting out of this?"

"It's a basic summation of the facts." Superman said. _I'm being a little vague here, aren't I..._

"Good." Lois grinned, pleased that she was keeping up. "Alright, enough with the history. Let's talk about you. You're an alien. You're incredibly strong. You can fly. You're practically invincible. I mean, you're standing in front of me when the official statement is that you're dead and let's be honest, I can't _wait_ to refute that. What else can you do?"

"I can emit concentrated beams of heat from my eyes." Superman said.

"Really? Prove it." Lois said dryly.

Pointing with one finger, he directed her gaze to a patch of snow just off to the left and narrowed his eyes at it. For a brief instant, nothing happened, but a glittering red color gathered in his sclera and the snow started to rapidly melt into a steaming puddle.

Lois nodded. "I didn't bring a camera. A camera would have been perfect. Why didn't I bring a camera?" she wondered. Next time, she would have a camera. She shook her head. "What else do you have in your bag of tricks?"

"Enhanced senses. I can hear your heart beating. There's an airplane stalling out on a runway at Metropolis International."

"That's eight miles from here." Lois informed him, like he didn't already know that. "How far away can you hear things?"

"It depends on the surrounding environment, but it seems to average about ten to fifteen miles and I have to be concentrating." Superman explained. When he wasn't concentrating, he could basically hear everything in an eighty-foot radius. "I also have super-speed."

"Faster than Zoom?"

"I've clocked myself at Mach Four, but I did break orbit with four hundred pounds in tow, so I know I'm a lot faster than just Mach Four. And I told you about the x-ray vision."

"Yeah, not actually believing that one."

"I do."

"Then what color's my underwear?"

"I don't know. I'm not looking."

"Oh, you're a gentleman too." Lois sniggered. "Humor me. What color's my underwear?"

She didn't expect to see him get flustered; he looked so noble and regal. It was a small display, nothing like Clark's bright pink, full-face blush and instant break-out of sweat. Superman shifted uneasily from foot to foot and gritted his teeth before he squinted cautiously in the vicinity of her right hip.

"Uh... Orange. Cotton, I think."

She was bundled up from head to toe in sensible winter clothes and her underwear was in no way visible from the outside. That one would _have_ to be taken at face value.

"Well you are just little bundle of surprises." Lois commented, hoping she didn't sound _too_ impressed. "So that invincibility of yours... You've shrugged off bullets at point-blank and it's pretty obvious that you survived direct contact with what I imagine was a fairly powerful explosion, not to mention no breathable atmosphere. Any comment on that?"

"To be honest, I don't know if I would have survived. I haven't exactly gotten around to testing my limits." Superman admitted. "I don't want to do something like dive into an active volcano only to find out that it's going to kill me."

"Fair point. So there's a lot you **can** do, but you still don't know what you **can't** do." Lois made a mental note to word that part of the interview in such a way that it didn't sound like an invitation. Her father's last two emails had given her the impression that General Eiling was ready to execute a tactical nuclear strike whether or not the need arose.

"So after twenty years, what brought you out of hiding now?"

"I'd just like to start helping people." Superman said. It was deliberately vague, but he didn't feel that he could say he had spent the last two decades growing up. He needed to keep his parents out of the line of fire too.

"Hmm, you mean like last night?" Lois inquired, receiving a nod as answer. "You know that you saved ten million people? Probably the entire world in the process? That the city's calling you a hero? I've heard people say that Mayor Kovac wants to publically thank you."

"I'm not doing this for any notoriety, Miss Lane. I just want to do what's right."

"The military wants to blast you out of the sky for existing."

"I'd prefer they didn't."

"Judging from what I know so far, they're welcome to try." Lois said dryly. "But you didn't exactly answer the question. After twenty years here on planet Earth, what finally brought you out of hiding and into the world at large? What made you want to start helping people, saving lives?"

"I didn't think I had to justify being a decent person." Superman admitted.

Lois canted an eyebrow. "So you're just here with the best of intentions? Nothing lured you out of hiding?"

 _Nothing except graduating college._ Superman didn't say. "I told you, I'm not doing this for the notoriety. I don't want fame. I don't want glory. I don't even want to be called a hero. I don't expect people to. I just want to do my best to make the world a little better place for people to live in. Having super-strength and being able to fly is just superfluous. I would do the exact same thing even if I didn't have these powers. It's just that I have them, so I might as well put them to the best possible use. The government is welcome to tell me to cut it out, but if I can save ten million more lives before the United States Supreme Court issues me a cease-and-desist, then I'll have considered my time well-spent."

His voice oozed such levels of sincerity that Lois felt a lot of her doubt melt away. He had an earnest, honest expression that seemed so unreal, just looking at it. Lois couldn't remember the last time she had seen a display of open honesty like that and didn't regard it with suspicion. Superman the alien from the destroyed planet called Krypton really just here because he had good intentions and wanted to help. No desire for glory or fame and he might even be happier if the only thing he got was a thank-you every once in a while.

Yet, it was still impossible to believe, as much as she wanted to. She wanted to believe that someone would do good acts just for the sake of doing them. But how many people did she meet in a day who acted solely on their best interests and damn anyone who got in their way? Chivalry was basically dead; they didn't even hold memorial ceremonies for it anymore. Random acts of kindness were always met with great shock and some suspicion. Had humankind really just become so jaded that it was impossible to believe that someone would do something out of the pure goodness of their heart?

"Look, history is full of people who had good intentions but the road to hell is paved with them, as they say." Lois said. There were still a few chinks in this argument of his. "The Greatest Generation had the best intentions on ending the war, but they still bombed the everlasting fuck out of two Japanese cities and the consequences are still felt, even today. How can you reassure not just the people of the United States, but the people of the world, that you don't pose such a threat? That you wouldn't go to such extremes to reinforce your 'good intentions'?"

Superman pondered over that a moment. It was a very valid and very real fear that he was familiar with. The abuse of power by authority figures, essentially. The fear that a handful of individuals could take away every freedom and privilege away from the people.

Or just one man, with the power akin to a god, making the world quake in fear.

"Miss Lane, do you know what it's like to fly?" he asked.

"No."

"Would you like to find out?"

"Oh god yes."

It was a stupid question to ask. If Lois hadn't had her sights set on journalism, she might have re-traced her father's military steps and trained to become a pilot. And the offer itself suitably distracted her from the question Superman hadn't answered.

"It'll be cold up there." Superman warned her.

"I don't care. Take me, big boy, I'm yours." Lois couldn't do that sultry come-hither tone very well, but she tried.

He smiled, making her think of a warm, sunny day, and put an arm around her waist. It was just as firm and strong and reassuring as the last few times. Lois wound her arms around his chest, remembering, though vaguely, the last time his arms had been around her. The last time she had been held against his tree trunk-like chest. It was as solid and immovable as the ground under her feet _-_ \- which wasn't under her feet anymore, come to think of it.

Lois looked down and saw that they had already three or four feet off the ground.

"Oh!" She clutched at the man a little tighter.

"It's alright, you won't fall." Superman assured her. His voice vibrated around her ribs. "Would you like me to go higher?"

Lois nodded. "Yes. Yes, please."

He did, rising slowly in a steady circle as to give her time to adjust to the idea of being in the air. It grew increasingly colder the higher they went, but Superman's body radiated heat, so much that the tips of Lois's fingers started to warm up. His heart thumped under her right ear, a powerful beat like a drum. The suit felt strange against her cheek; certainly made of no earthly materials. The texture was like metal just as much as it was like fabric, maybe like Kevlar, but not even a quarter of the same thickness. And he smelled like generic soap and baby-powder deodorant.

Superman stopped his ascent just above the very top of the ferris wheel.

"Heheh, I can see my apartment from here." Lois giggled.

"Would you like to go higher?" Superman asked again. He didn't want to take her too high, in case she had a previously unknown case of acrophobia.

Lois frowned. "I'm not dignifying that with a response. I think it should be obvious."

"Hold tight, then." Superman advised.

This time, when he ascended, he put on the speed, clocking in at just over one hundred miles per hour. The city fell away at a dizzying pace and the stars were suddenly closer than Lois had ever seen them. The wind rushed through her hair, stung her eyes, but she was distantly aware that she was laughing in joy. Away from the earth, slipped from gravity's leash, rising higher and higher into the sky until Metropolis was a glowing spider-web under their feet.

Superman brought them to a spiraling stop and his cape fluttered out around them like settling sea-foam. Lois spun right out of his arms like a dancer, momentarily leaving the anchor that had otherwise kept her tethered, and she experienced a moment of wild, breathless freedom. She twirled once, twice through the air before his strong, sure hands clasped her own and her feet came down safely on the tops of his boots.

"Wow!" Lois gasped breathlessly.

"Careful, we're almost a mile up! You wouldn't want to fall." Superman said, but he was grinning. He would have caught her well before she'd slipped ten feet.

"Just a mile?"

"It's the highest I can take you without an oxygen tank."

"Can you go higher?" Lois wondered, glancing down and then up.

"Yes, I have a deeper lung capacity. I can go as high as fourteen miles, higher if I hold my breath. But I still need to breathe, so fourteen miles is about where I lose the oxygen." Superman said.

"Wow..." Lois said again. "Just _-_ \- wow... Everything, wow."

She looked down again. They were still above Metropolis, drifting gently on an air current. The city was sprawled out below, displaying the straight lines that it was known for. Long clean lines glowing with electricity, yellow and orange and occasionally blue. The LexCorp tower glowed white, the gold-colored globe of the _Daily Planet_ building was brightly illuminated and the sterile-like floodlights from S.T.A.R. Labs just west of the city proper cast a strange pall into the air. Cars moved up and down the roads, looking no bigger than ants from this high up. She felt like she could reach out and pluck any of the buildings from their foundations. Puffs of smoke rose from the industrial stacks to the north and airplanes veered towards the runways, looking simultaneously cumbersome and graceful in the air.

Metropolis looked like a great heart on the peninsula, beating with the lifeblood of an entire nation.

Lois tore her eyes off the ground and back into the sky with the man who had brought her up here. And her breath caught. They were far away from the harsh city lights that warped impression. Up here, under the starlight, the lines of Superman's face thrown into soft relief, giving him both the face of an alien and a human, as though he couldn't decide which one he should be.

Then he tilted his head just a little and all philosophical musings flew right out of Lois's head.

 _Oh my god, he is the hottest thing since that knife that toasts your bread when you slice it._ She thought.

"Something wrong?" Superman wondered, not entirely sure what to make of her flabbergasted expression.

"No, nothing's wrong." Lois assured him. "I'm just _-_ \- This is all new to me. Humans just don't fly like this. Is it like this for you all the time? Being up so high? Being able to see everything?"

"I like the view from ground level too." Superman assured her. "Being up so high where everything is so small isn't the right way to look at the world. No one should live at such a lofty height. It does things to a good man's head. And I don't mean just from the oxygen deprivation."

"Hah! That's true." Lois agreed, casting another look at the white-lit L-shaped tower of LexCorp. Now there was a man who wouldn't dare lower himself to walk among the wretched masses like a common person.

Maybe the oxygen deprivation was getting to Luthor.

"I'm wondering what the 'S' stands for." Lois said, nodding to it.

Superman looked down at the pentagonal shield.

"It's not an 'S.'"

"Here it's an 'S.'"

"It's not an 'S'." Superman repeated. "It's an old Kryptonian hieroglyph that means 'hope'. My ancestors adopted it as the house crest. You could argue that hope is what brought me here."

"How so?" Lois prompted.

Superman inhaled with an uncertain expression and breathed out in a fortifying kind of way. Lois recognized the sight of a man trying to gear himself up for a confession. Despite his supposed alien origins, he was still the most human man she'd ever met.

"Miss Lane, I've lived practically my entire life on Earth." Superman said. "The only Krypton I know is the one preserved in video and image files. I have no personal memories of the planet.

"I was just a baby when Krypton imploded. My grandfather went ahead of me, to try and find a place like Earth. My parents sent me here so that I would have a future. This planet is the only home I have. I wouldn't dare intentionally harm Earth and the people on it. The very idea makes me sick to my stomach. As such, I won't be anyone's nuclear deterrent."

The words were firm and resolute. Lois hoped she could convey that tone through the editorial. He was not going to be anyone's weapon of mass destruction. He wasn't going to fight wars and he wasn't going to take sides in politics.

She had to make sure that got across.

"Noted." she said. "By the way, your name, Kal-El. Does it mean anything? In your language, I mean."

"I honestly don't know." Superman admitted. It would be worth finding out, though. "I haven't started learning my people's language yet. I barely know anything about the history, come to think of it."

"You said you've lived on Earth all your life. Where did you grow up? _Who_ did you grow up with, your grandfather?" Lois wondered.

"Now that is not a question I should answer." Superman asserted firmly. "I have a personal life, Miss Lane. I would like to keep it to myself."

"As long as you're not secretly a serial killer. Because if you are, I can't make any promises about not prying." Lois told him. "But I won't pry. You're entitled to privacy. Everyone is."

"Thank you, Miss Lane." Superman said, briefly closing his eyes in gratitude. But when he opened them again, they held just a glint of mischief. "Now then, I don't think I've properly taken you flying."

Did that mean swooping and diving and twirling like a roller coaster until she was halfway past nauseous? Spiraling between the buildings of Metropolis, skimming too low over the streets and having a lot of near-misses? Because that would be a fine way to spend the next half-hour, in Lois's opinion.

Her excited grin was answer enough.

* * *

-0-


	43. Epilogue: The Story of the Century

Epilogue: The Story of the Century

Dooley's Bar and Grill was a frequent hang-out for reporters from across the city, but ninety percent of Dooley's patrons were from the _Planet_ , because of its proximity to the building. No _Metropolis Star_ reporter, if they valued loyalty to their brand above all else, set foot in Dooley's on a Friday night, when the density of _Planet_ reporters was at its peak.

The second floor dining room and the outdoor patio (closed for the winter) was often referred to as the Newsroom for how many reporters frequented it after work-hours. The flat-screen televisions located around the room were on, tuned to the news which cycled through existing Superman footage over and over.

Friday night (the first of December), after determining that Clark had left his apartment after work approximately dick number of times, Lois had dragged him down the block for chicken wings and local microbrew and time well spent among like-minded individuals.

In this case, it was solely Perry White, mostly because there really wasn't anyone else who'd spend an evening out with Lois. In any case, she had all but bribed him with the complete Superman interview.

Superman had not disappointed her on the flying part. He had taken her on a wild, looping flight through the city for a good twenty minutes before they drifted silently through the night sky for another ten so her heart-rate would go back down (and talked a little more) and then he had deposited on the balcony of her apartment while she giggled uncontrollably and clung to him for another few minutes until the adrenaline rush started to back off enough that she could stand on her own. She had been left with a drunken, orgasmic feeling singing in her veins and a more physical swaying motion as her legs fought to re-accustom themselves to gravity.

Too keyed up to sleep afterwards, she had set about to hammering a rough draft of the interview.

She had spent all of Thursday and most of Friday polishing it to a high shine and with more coffee in her veins than blood, it was with great pride that she had presented the final draft to Perry not two minutes ago in Dooley's Newsroom. They were here because Perry would probably need a drink afterwards.

He read over it in silence. His reactions were worth watching. Lois could tell what parts he had reached by the way his eyes bulged or when he covered his mouth or had to breathe out very suddenly. He was going through the same shock and awe roller coaster she had been on Wednesday night.

At length, the editor-in-chief turned over the last page and shuffled them back together. Then he laced his fingers together and rested his chin on them thoughtfully and looked at both Lois and Clark like they were both responsible for this.

In a manner of speaking, they were responsible. Clark had proof-read the interview at Lois's request and it had amused him greatly to see how she had interpreted his comments. She had indeed left out any mention of a surviving grandparent and had instead emphasized Superman's refugee status as the only known survivor. She had avoided mentioning anything regarding his childhood and played up his comments about how he considered Earth the only home he had left and she had made absolutely certain to outline the fact that he refused to anyone's weapon of war.

Everything was clean and well-presented with little wiggle room for creative interpretations of his words. Even the most inventive would be hard-pressed to squeeze any hint of hostility out of his answers.

It took Perry another moment to find his voice.

"Lois, this is remarkable. This is editorial gold." he said, calm for the moment. "Here we all thought he wasn't even going to be alive, or that we'd be working on just getting a glimpse of him for the next month, but this is a full interview!" His expression was slowly mutating from passive to impressed. "I know two dozen reporters who would give their right lung for something like this! Who in hell did you sell your soul to for this?"

"No demonic bargains or organ donations involved, chief. I told you. He came to me." the dark-haired woman said.

"You must have some hell kind of magnetism, Lane." Perry said, running a hand through his thinning and graying hair. It was hard work to keep breathing steady. He was all too aware of what was on his desk. "NASA's gonna shit itself."

"For a second, I thought **I** was going to shit myself." Lois admitted. Even two days later, it still felt unbelievable. That she had spoken with, _flown with_ an alien. Practically danced with him. Kind of attracted to him too, if she was being honest.

Perry wiped his hand across his mouth and stared at the final draft like it was some unknown species of poisonous something or other, worthy of both awe and respect and fear.

"Kent, what do you think?" he asked. "Aliens in America. Bonafide _aliens_ in America. What's your opinion on that?"

Clark shrugged. "I don't know, actually." he said. Or at least, he didn't know what to say without admitting to _being_ that alien. "It's unbelievable, I guess. People are going to be talking about it for a long time."

"Exactly!" Perry snapped his fingers, pleased that the newbie was starting to get it. "This isn't just the story of the decade or the century. It's the story of the millennium. It is _the_ story. The holy grail of all news reports. This is what every news outlet dreams of, kids. We're going to run a legit story on _an alien_. We have an _alien_ living in this city. And he talked to one of _my_ reporters..."

After two days, Lois had managed to somewhat come to grips with the revelation (Clark had to pretend he was still dumb-struck by it), but it was fresh for Perry.

"I don't even know if we should run it." he added in a soft, horrified tone.

"Oh no, I did not spend the last two days glued to my desk chair just for you to turn it away!" Lois snapped. "Not when you have bellowing for that interview for nearly two weeks! Perry, you cannot reject this story. If you have any integrity as an editor of a national newspaper, you will **not** put it in the reject pile!"

She slapped her hand on the table-top for emphasis, making their glasses jump.

"Lois, let's look at this reasonably for a moment." Perry started in his best reasonable tone. "This interview turns everything on its head. _Ev-ver-ry-thing_. Everything we thought we knew about life, the universe and everything is going to change. The answer won't be forty-two anymore. Instead, it'll be one of those imaginary numbers that I don't know anything about. This interview says that we are not alone in the universe."

"I'm aware of what this interview is going to do to the nation at large, Perry. But we can't get scared and pull it." Lois asserted. "Superman came to me so I could put his words out there. People have questions about him and this interview answers them."

"These aren't answers that people want to hear." Perry said wisely. He respected the power of words and these words had some serious firepower.

"I didn't know we were in the business of coddling the public." Lois muttered. "Look, Perry, if we sit on this story and word gets out that we've just left it floating in limbo, the backlash is going to worse. The _Daily Planet_ tells the truth, no matter how raw."

Perry heaved a sigh, torn between reluctance and uncertainty and _pure news-worthy gold_. He would have to be mad to run this story in its entirety, but he would be even more insane not to.

"How soon can you get me the final, _final_ draft?" he asked.

"Should be in your inbox already. You can run it in Sunday's paper." Lois said, taking back the paper copy. "There's some photos too."

Perry's eyes brightened. "You got a photo?"

"Several. Maybe one of them's for the front page." Lois nodded. Superman had agreed to stick around for a moment so she could grab her DSLR camera and snap a few pictures of his good side.

"Sunday's paper, then. It's too big for the week-day edition." Perry decided. "It'll displace the bombing aftermath- Oh, Baker's gonna climb up my butt about that; he's sensitive - but this is a bigger story by far. _Aliens_ , Lois!"

"And by Monday, you won't be the only person saying that." Lois commented, amused.

"Can't wait." Perry said, looking a tad overwhelmed. "I need a drink."

And with that, he left to head up to the bar for something stronger than the house brew.

"What do you think about this, Smallville?" Lois asked, flicking the draft at him. "Not the not-answer you gave Perry, I mean what do you _really_ think about this? Superman's alive, everyone's known that since yesterday and once this interview hits the streets..."

Clark had to shrug again. He had put in an appearance yesterday during the lunch hour, flying low and comparatively slow so that people saw him. The ensuing applause and cheers had been resounding. Some grumbles and muttering, but the positive reaction had overwhelmed the negative. It had reminded him starkly of the old sepia-toned or black and white newsreels from the days of the Justice Society, when all they had to do was walk onto a stage and the crowd went wild.

"I think you were right all along." Clark answered, picking up his beer to take a drink.

Lois blinked. "There was a lot I was right about. Which one?"

"About the superheroes. You told me that you thought Superman's appearances heralded a new age of superheroes." Clark said. He had gotten filled in on her thoughts over the last two days. "The internet's blowing up again. Everyone's saying the same thing you are. They think superheroes are going to come back to the world and that Superman is just the first."

Lois gave a proud kind of nod and tried to sound modest when she spoke. "Well, what can I say? I've got some pretty good instincts. Reporter instincts, Smallville, I got 'em."

"What _-_ \- What is he like?" Clark wondered. Call it selfish curiosity, but he really wanted to know. There was plenty he could glean from her reactions but he wanted to hear what she had to say.

Lois uttered a low whistle and an overwhelmed expression passed briefly over her face. "How do I put this... He's _-_ \- amazing? I know I've met him before, but I don't think I'll ever be prepared for it. He's larger than life; I've never seen shoulders like that. But it's not just the physicality of him. He has this _-_ \- _thing_."

"A thing?" Clark repeated, trying to figure out what she was trying to describe.

"You know how you meet some people and they're just like _-_ \- so inherently good and kind you actually doubt that they're genuine because you don't run into people like that anymore, but then they say or do something that reinforces that and you feel like a rotten person for doubting them? It's like that." Lois said.

"I _-_ \- I don't follow, exactly." Clark admitted, brow furrowing in confusion.

"Like disappointing your pastor." Lois tried. "They have these such high hopes for you and then it's the look of their face when you wander in homeless and a junkie with a crack-baby and a raging case of gonorrhea and you can see them struggling to tell you that it's still okay."

 _Why do you sound like you have past experience?_ Clark wondered, afraid to actually ask that. He didn't know her history and at this point, he was doubting that he wanted to know.

"Look, Smallville," Lois started, correctly interpreting his raised eyebrow and confused frown. "This _-_ \- This man is something else completely. He has this way of talking that makes you feel like you _want_ to be a decent person. Not even the police can make me feel bad for taking advantage of the loose trespassing laws in this city, but I think if this guy told me to stop, I probably would. No guarantees, but I'd probably seriously consider it." she added firmly, to make sure he understood that she wouldn't necessarily stop because someone told her to.

"So... He's charismatic?" Clark guessed.

"'Compelling' is a better word." Lois corrected. "He has a very definite way of speaking. I just hope put that into the interview. He told me some very heavy stuff. Stuff I never would have imagined in my wildest dreams. You read it. You know how crazy it is."

 _More than you can imagine. And I think I'm going to tell you one day._ Clark thought. He still needed time to consider it and he wasn't sure when, but he was certain that one day, Lois would get his full story.

If there was anyone he could trust to tell, it would most likely turn out to be Lois Lane.

The waiter arrived with their dinner orders as Perry returned. It had been cheeseburgers all around and a plate of Dooley's famous Headliner chicken wings. They were notorious for being spicier than the pits of Hell.

"Alright," Lois held up a bottle of the house brew in a toast. "Here's to getting the story of the century."

"Here's to Superman for being the story of the century." Perry said, clinking the glass gently against their bottles. Then he nudged the plate of chicken wings over to Clark. "Go on, rookies first. They're _delicious_."

Lois looked on with a barely concealed expression of anticipation.

Clark already knew what was up. It seemed there was some manner of hazing process that every new " _Planeteer_ " had the joy of enduring and it consisted of not being told how spicy the Headliner Wings were. Reactions were typically coughing and watery eyes and wheezing demands for something to drink, and it was a big laugh for all the veteran employees.

Clark picked up one of the boneless wings and took a bite. He could taste the spices, but it was more like a mild, pleasant tingling rather than the sensation of his tongue being burned alive. He had forayed briefly into India on his Eurasian tour and had discovered that the spicy cuisine had no lasting effect on his tongue. He could probably eat the hottest pepper in the world and it wouldn't have much effect.

"Not bad." he said, quietly enjoying their horrified expressions as he took another large bite of the atrociously spicy wing. Then, to rub it in, he added: "Could be spicier."

Lois was the first to shake herself out of the stunned stupor.

"Is your mouth coated in mucus or something?" she wondered.

"My tongue is made of steel." Clark quipped. Just to prove it, he stuffed an entire wing into his mouth and chewed away with a contented smile. Not an ounce of discomfort showed on his face, because he wasn't in any discomfort at all.

"Ugh, you disgust me." Perry grumbled. "I can't even eat one of those without needing half a bottle of beer to wash it down! Maybe we should get you into the chili-eating contest this summer." he added thoughtfully.

The rest of the night didn't go very seriously. They were unwinding from a stressful week and slightly buzzed. Gossip about annoying work-mates and uncouth stories were only to be expected and good lord, Perry had so many.

As it neared towards eleven o'clock, they called it a night. Perry had to be in tomorrow if he was going to present the story to the weekend editor and Lois had to run some errands and Clark had a vague plan to fly down to Smallville sometime before Saturday evening. His parents wanted the full story from him. Perry made his way down the street to the nearest train platform while Lois hung around the curb to hail a taxi.

"Hey Smallville," she started, while waiting for one of the yellow vehicles to turn up on the block. "Who do you think was _really_ responsible for the attack? 'Cause honestly, I don't believe it was all Sofia's work."

"I thought you told me your dad was involved?" Clark prompted.

"He was _-_ \- Well, he had the idea to clean up Metropolis through a disaster, but Sofia came to him with the exact details." Lois corrected. She shrugged. "I dunno, it just doesn't feel exactly like her style."

"And then there's that devil dog thing." Clark added, more concerned over that than anything else. The Met P.D. could handle something as mundane as Sofia Gigante, but fire-breathing exploding hellhounds were on another level entirely.

Lois went "huh..." in a thoughtful way. She raised her hand and like magic, a taxi pulled up to the curb.

"Keep me posted if you hear anything." she requested, opening the back door. She gestured to the cab. "Sharing this one?"

Clark waved her off. "No, you've got further to go than me. I'll get the next train. See you Monday, Lois."

"Sleep tight, Smallville." Lois grinned, and then got into the cab.

Clark needed the fresh air anyways. His head was buzzing and certainly not from the two beers he'd had. By Sunday, the interview would be out and Superman would be international. When he put on that red cape again, there would be no anonymity to hide behind.

And he had done that to himself on purpose. He was taking away that anonymity because there was something dishonest about lurking in the shadows when he meant to do good. It was easier to do good when people could see you. It kept a body honest.

There was no official statement from the government yet. They would deliberate over things first and there was probably some red tape to machete through in the process, what with the appearance of someone that Metropolis was widely calling a superhero. They probably didn't know how to handle the situation as of yet. Of course their response wouldn't be nearly as immediate.

Clark hoped it wouldn't be a drastically negative one.

But he was about to turn the world on its head and shake up the status quo. In Perry's own words, the answer wasn't forty-two anymore. And people were going to be a little scared, a little twitchy. It certainly wasn't going to be easy to prove to one and all that he meant no harm.

The world wasn't going to be the same after this.

But wasn't that a good thing?

* * *

Down there at ground level, everything was all right. No one had gotten permanently hurt. In another few days to weeks, the city's scars would heal over and it would be impossible to tell what had nearly happened. There were still a lot of loose ends dangling. The police were already wading into an investigation on the identity of the terrorists who were presumed to be involved with the attack, but the Met P.D. could be nothing if not tenacious.

The good guys had won the day, at least for now.

But high up at thirteen hundred feet, in his office, Lex Luthor placed Friday's edition of _Daily Planet_ down so the picture of Superman was facing up. He laced his fingers together and pushed his chair around to stare out the window to the Metropolis skyline.

From where he sat, things looked very different. For all that Metropolis appeared to have straight lines, a different angle made you realize that those lines weren't so straight after all.

And he knew it.

Metropolis was his city and it was slowly coming together the way it should, delicately shaped by his hand. It was a fragile process, slow and meticulous. Much attention to detail was required and unknown variables needed to be rooted out before they could become nuisances.

He had known in the back of his mind that Superman was not dead. A man like that simply did not up and die so soon after appearing. The city had gotten its hero back before the end of the week, alive and more than well.

Superman was strong, powerful. He was a variable that could disrupt the plans that Luthor had spent years cultivating. He couldn't yet be predicted. Either he was to be brought to Luthor's side or removed permanently. There couldn't be an in-between.

* * *

And across the universe, far away and tucked back into a corner where time was really not a concept, December Mannheim (the very same Mannheim that Sofia had been in contact with) crouched in front of a massive throne in a bow that was truly more of a cower. The heat of the glare on her was literal. The back of her neck blistered under her lord's displeasure and the snakes of her hair whimpered softly.

"So, this planet Earth has a new champion." intoned a voice so deep and powerful her eyes nearly rolled back in her head from the overwhelming presence of it. "Why did you abandon your post instead of bringing him down?"

December cringed, her neck searing. Her eardrums pounded.

"I beg Your forgiveness, my lord, but he has proven that he is not a gnat we can simply swat." she said, all but scraping the ground with her cower. "He is still young and inexperienced, yes, but I do not think I could have so much as injured him, even with all my training. He is not human _-_ -"

"FOOL!" her lord boomed and the concussive blast of His voice almost flattened her. "Your beloved Granny did not mold you into the perfect weapon just for you to run at the first sign of difficulty! We did not come this far simply to fail now!"

"Forgive my mistakes, my lord!" December cried, her forehead pressed to the hot stone she kneeled on. "But You needed to know! You needed to know that Earth was not going to fall as easily as we had imagined! Your grand plan, my lord, it will need tweaking-"

"You dare question me!?" her lord roared and His great anger washed over her like a tidal wave, scalding her very skin and searing into the sensitive tissue of her eyes. She bit her lip clean through in an effort not to scream. To scream in front of Him... It would end poorly.

Then, He chuckled.

"Stand up, Cruel December. Do not cower." He ordered. "It does not befit a Fury."

Slowly, December returned to her feet. She stood tall as ordered, but she did not raise her head along with her shoulders. She was not worthy to meet His eyes.

"You have served Me faithfully for many years and I have little reason to doubt your loyalty to me. It was wise of you to return to My side and inform Me of these new developments. The grand plan will require a small amount of revision." He admitted. "You will return to Earth and your husband. You will continue to be My eyes and ears. Guide the plan to My wishes. This is how you will redeem yourself for your foolish errors."

December bowed deeply, gratefully. Her master was rarely a forgiving one and she would be groveling at His feet for centuries to repay Him for this small act of mercy.

"Thank you, my lord Darkseid."

* * *

-0-


	44. Final author's note

Crucible final notes:

The final update was delayed for a specific reason, because I missed this last year.

February 8th is the anniversary of the Shatterpoint verse! Technically, I could make the argument that a nebulous point in August 2012 is the anniversary because that was when I started brainstorming and actively writing. It's debatable if six false starts could an anniversary make. I initially started with Batman, but getting into the groove was weirdly difficult. At the time, I wasn't sure where the beginning was. Funny enough, four of the false starts have found their way back into the general plot, mostly because they concern Jim Gordon and his first impressions of Gotham.

For some reason, though, everything fell into place on Feb 8 2013 and I had 25 chapters on Batman by May (current count sits close to 80, averaging 4500 words apiece, for context). Then I shifted gears and started working on the Flash story (number 4) that summer. 21 chapters there, all of which have survived to the current ititeration of the story in, more or less, the same form. Currently 26 chapters. I'm only at the halfway point. Story 4 is going to be long af, I tell you what.

I didn't actually get around to writing Crucible (then titled Steel) until either very late 2013 or very early 2014. Crucible was actually finished by the end of 2014 **and** I got 8 chapters into the sequel until my dark inner editor went "...the fuck is this?". 2015 was a blitz of revision and world-building. Crucible definitely shows the growing pains of this world-building blitz. One day, I might get around to grinding down some of the rough patches that are still there, but after two years I don't want to do more than poke it every once in a while.

So what comes next? It's called " _Architects_ " and it's centered around the Metropolis P.D. Special Crimes Unit and their stop-start adaption to this strange new Metropolis they've found themselves in. Lois and Clark/Superman have minor appearances. It was originally conceived as a side-story, so it's much shorter, but I found that it worked better as part of the main line-up. Reading it is, of course, enthusiastically recommended. It will start to build on the foundation that Crucible established.

Architects will begin with chapter 1 on March 10th. See you then!

-0-


End file.
